Whiteout
by Lord of Kavaka
Summary: Antarctica. Six million square miles of ice. The coldest place on Earth. Forty-six countries had competing claims and maintained outposts. There was no regular law enforcement there. Kate Beckett was the lone U.S. Marshal assigned to the territory. AU from RISE. CastleFicathon2018. Inspired by the graphic novels and movie of the same name. Rated T. COMPLETE.
1. Prologue

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Prologue**_

* * *

 _ **whiteout**_ _ˈ_ _(h)wītout | noun  
_ _1._ _a blizzard, especially in polar regions, that reduces visibilities to near zero.  
_ _2._ _a weather condition in which the features and horizon of snow-covered country are indistinguishable due to uniform light diffusion._

* * *

She was bored.

There was nothing to do. The excitement level was zero. But that was what she wanted when she requested this assignment. No one else wanted it, so she took it, gladly, needing to go somewhere that wouldn't cause her to jump at the slightest sound or movement. She was isolated here, free of worry and fear. A great place to rebuild, rise from the ashes of what she once was, and become more.

But that's not what she did.

No.

It had been well over year—closer to two, yet nothing had change. She was still here, content and happy in her boredom. The fire that had once burned like an inferno inside her had dimmed, tampered down by the harsh and tragic consequences of her past actions. But that's why she had come here, to the bottom of the world.

Kate Beckett had come here to escape.

Once, what now seemed like long ago, she was a rising star in the New York Police Department. She had been the youngest woman to make detective in department history. She probably could have made captain someday. She was tough, resilient. One of the best detectives at the Twelfth Precinct. She kicked ass and took names like it was nothing. She excelled at her job. She was an expert interrogator. She owned that box. Confessions would come spilling out like there was no tomorrow.

But she had a past. A tragic past. Her mother had been killed when she was nineteen, found in some dirty alley up in Washington Heights. The police had ruled it random gang violence. After all, she had been found in a bad neighborhood. Johanna Beckett's death became her daughter's defining moment. Everything Kate Beckett did from then on was a result of that grief and anger.

It drove her. Gave her purpose.

She dropped out of Stanford, transferred to NYU, and eventually enrolled in the New York Police Academy, soon becoming one of their top recruits. She was tenacious, like a dog with a bone. However, she was also broken, consumed with obsession.

Eventually that obsession got the better of her.

She spiraled, unable to stop herself from digging, grasping for straws. The obsession became her life. The only one who seemed to truly understand her drive and stubborn refusal to give up had been her training officer. But, just like everyone else in her life, he left, abandoned her when she needed him most. She survived, as she always did. Kate Beckett was a survivor. She learned to live with it, eventually recognizing the destructiveness of it. So, she buried it, deep down and ignored the insidious need for answers.

But something like that, so ingrained and brutal, couldn't stay buried for long. Eventually it resurfaced, turned destructive. It took her captain, the man who had been her mentor and friend. He was dead now, having sacrificed himself in a misguided attempt at redemption—to save her. And she hated him for it. But she also loved him for it. Her feelings for Roy Montgomery would always be complex and conflicted.

The whole incident had become the second defining moment of her life, especially what happened afterwards. She had been shot in the chest at his funeral while delivering the eulogy. And she'd nearly died.

But she didn't.

After all, Kate Beckett was a survivor.

However, for the first time in her life, Beckett's drive to never give up failed her. She was battered and bruised. Defeated. And scared. Her life was being assaulted from every direction. A phantom villain wanted her dead. The pressure to project strength weighed heavily on her. It was almost suffocating. She couldn't put on a mask and pretend anymore. So, when she was well enough to return to work, Kate Beckett shocked everyone and resigned from the NYPD, instead joining the U.S. Marshal Service, requesting the least exciting and least desirable position possible.

Antarctica.

Six million square miles of ice. The coldest place on Earth. Forty-six countries had competing claims and maintained outposts. The Antarctic Treaty held these claims in check. There was no regular law enforcement there. She was the lone U.S. Marshal assigned to the territory.

There really wasn't much action out here for a law enforcement officer. No homicides, mostly just minor offenses, petty theft and stuff like that. Earlier that morning Beckett had to make the trek over to Biology Building Number 7 where some asinine professor wanted to report the disappearance of some plant samples.

"They took it all!" he had exclaimed, a little crazed.

"All what?" Beckett had questioned, already having a strong suspicion from just her observations of the laboratory and the sniggering assistants.

" _Cannabis Stavia_ ," he had reluctantly admitted.

Beckett had given him a long, hard look, one she had perfected during her tenure with the NYPD. She had then dug her badge and credentials out of her inside pocket, showing them to the crazed professor, and insisted he read them aloud.

"What's this say?"

He had just stared down with a confused expression.

"C'mon, go ahead, read it," she had coaxed, annoyed.

He had anxiously licked his lips before complying. "Kate Beckett."

"Keep reading."

"United States Marshal."

And then she had looked him square in the eye and had asked, "Are you still sure you want to report the theft of an illegal narcotic?"

And that was pretty much how most of her cases went these days.

Sighing, Beckett carded her fingers through her hair. She had too much time to think down here. Too much to regret. But that's what she signed up for, wasn't it? She had wanted the time and isolation, so that she could use it to do some serious self-reflection, rebuild herself, become more than who she had been. At least that had been her intent when she'd resigned from the NYPD, and walked out on her old life, to come down here to the bottom of the world. Such plans as these hardly ever turned out the way they were intended.

Funny, that.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled the crisp, recycled air and allowed herself the brief pleasure of thinking of him: The way his hair flopped down over his forehead; His blue eyes, sharp with intellect and mischief. He always challenged her, kept her on her toes. Her heart thrummed beneath her breast the longer she thought of him. She had now ceased refuting his claims to be ruggedly handsome. He was, so very much. Out of everything she had left behind, with the exception of her father, she probably missed him the most.

But that was another life, the one before.

The radio transmitter beeped, interrupting her sentimental ruminations.

Kate Beckett slid off the small bed, padding across her tiny, cramped quarters, and pulled the device up out the charging cradle.

"Beckett," she answered in her customary fashion.

" _Good afternoon, Marshal_ ," came the Texas drawl of the McMurdo base communications officer. " _We've got a pilot at ASB who thinks he spotted something out on the ice._ "

"Where?"

" _McClain Valley_."

That answer threw Beckett for a moment. "McClain Valley?" she questioned, brow furrowed, glancing at the large map of Antarctica on the wall, searching for the location. Spotting it, her eyebrows rose in surprise. "What was he doing out there? That's no man's land."

" _Don't know_ ," he replied. " _But the base commander wants you to check it out. That's if you're not too busy_."

Beckett almost laughed. "Oh, yes, Pete, you know me, always so busy," she played along. She was never busy. The binder—labeled DAILY REPORTS—that sat on her desk was filled with dozens of pages reading " _INCIDENT: Petty Theft. ACTION TAKEN: None_ " or " _INCIDENT: Public Intoxication. ACTION TAKEN: None"_ or something to that effect. A smirk played across her lips. "I think I can make the time."

" _Good to hear, Marshal_ ," Pete replied over the radio, chuckling.

" _There's a helicopter waiting to take you to ASB, from there you can hitch a lift with Hobson and he can take you to the location_."

"What about Doc?"

" _Already on site, helping with the Winter-Over Evac_."

Beckett nodded, already reaching for her boots and parka. "Then tell him I'm on my way."


	2. Chapter 1

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1**_

* * *

Bottom of the world. Antarctica. The ice. No place to go but up. But when you hit the bottom, you can always start digging.

Everywhere she looked, from horizon to horizon, all U.S. Marshal Kate Beckett could see was ice and snow, with the occasional rocky outcropping, but mainly just white ice. Up above, the sun was shining brightly in a cloudless crystal blue sky, yet she found no warmth. It was always cold here at the bottom of the world. Cold and unforgiving. The sunlight simply bounced off the frozen ground, making everything seem so very bright. At least that was until she reached the body—a horrifically frozen display of death.

Beckett stopped just steps away from the grizzly sight. It had always been her custom, ever since her first day as a homicide detective, to pause and take a moment to reflect and pay her respects, to acknowledge the victim and remind herself of her duty to provide whatever justice she could. It was a solemn and sacred ritual, one that she never broke, no matter the circumstances or situation.

"Hell of a place to die, huh, Marshal?" came a gruff, worn voice behind her.

Beckett shivered, bobbing her head in agreement as she shoved her gloved hands into the pockets of her parka. She was covered in thick layers, keeping herself insulated from the unforgiving cold. Her companion was similarly dressed, though he had his hood pulled up over his head.

Stepping aside, Beckett let him move past her. He let out a grunt as he knelt down next to the body, grumbling to himself as he tugged the ski goggles up and away from his eyes, resting them on his wrinkled forehead. His eyes were a pale blue. Mark Marston, late-fifties, doctor. He was a good man. His friendship made her assignment down here much easier than it could have been.

She watched as he dipped his head down, scanning the body with experienced eyes. He'd been working in Antarctica for longer than her, nearly most of his life dedicated to looking after those that came here to explore and learn what the harsh southern continent would teach. His lips pursed as he grimaced, glancing down at the bashed in face of the dead man, making the poor soul unrecognizable.

"Wow," he hissed. "I mean, that's _gotta_ sting."

"Cause of death, Doc?" Beckett asked, shifting to stand over his shoulder, observing his examination.

"Besides the obvious?" he grunted, smirking slightly. It always helped to have a good sense of humor in this line of work. Beckett smiled to herself, remembering with fondness the banter she'd shared with Dr. Lanie Parish, her best friend and one of the finest medical examiners she'd ever worked with. Dr. Marston was on that list as well. Though not technically a medical examiner, he filled in that capacity when needed. It rarely was. But when it was, he performed his duties with diligence and wit. Like Lanie, Marston helped to make her job a lot easier.

"Yeah," Beckett said, moving around to get a better look at the victim, stopping at times to take photos with a digital camera, noting the unnatural angles of the man's limbs. "Besides the smashed in face."

Marston shrugged his shoulders, the gesture barely visible underneath the copious number of layers he was wearing, but Beckett had worked alongside him for just shy of two years now, and knew him well enough to read his body language despite the hindrance.

"Hmm," he hummed, deep in his throat, stroking his peppery gray beard. "I've seen this once. Happened before your time, kid, a few years back, some guy got pecked to death by an emperor penguin."

Beckett pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. "You're a riot, Doc." She stepped around the body, taking in the scene. The ice, it ate everything up, made it impossible to judge things properly.

Marston let out a sigh as he looked down at the body. "It's always different when they freeze. Some curl up. Some stretch out. Some tear their clothes off. They get delirious. What was that one guy's name?"

"Hawley?"

"Yeah, him," Marston nodded, cocking his head as he recalled the incident. "He got lost in a storm, if my memory serves me correctly." Beckett nodded. "We couldn't find him, but we heard him on the radio going on and on about the Serengeti heat."

"Next day, we found him frozen solid, wearing nothing but his bunny boots," Beckett finished the story with a shake of her head.

Marston nodded solemnly. "The ice is an unforgiving mistress."

"That it is, Doc. That it is," Beckett said. She crouched down and shoveled the snow away from the dead body with her gloved hands. There was no blood pool soaking up the ice and snow surrounding the body. Odd. Frowning, she cocked her head and glanced over her shoulder. Behind them the ice steepened sharply to a vast plateau, scattered with jagged boulders of ice. "Maybe he fell?"

"That's possible, yeah," Marston agreed, glancing up to follow her gaze, before continuing his examination of the body.

The sun glared down on them, blaring off the white sheet of ice. These tall cliffs of ice were everywhere, and during certain conditions—such a whiteout—invisible to the naked eye. This wouldn't be the first time some unfortunate soul made a wrong step and plunged to their death. Antarctica was a murderous bitch. Not to overstate it or anything. Just waiting for a chance to kill you. It was never personal. The ice didn't care. It was just her nature. The ice didn't forgive mistakes.

Beckett stood back up and squinted, wishing she had grabbed her sunglasses when the call came in. She turned back around, staring down at the body. "Still, doesn't explain the damage to the face," she observed. "And if he had been climbing out here, then where's his gear?"

"Maybe down that crevasse over there?" he suggested, gesturing towards a gaping maw in the ice several yards away.

"Yeah, maybe."

Marston grunted in acknowledgement, but then added, "We won't really be able to tell until we get him back to base and thaw him out." The Doc ran his gloved hands over the frozen body's chest and arms, checking for identification tags. "For all we know, he coulda been shot or stabbed. Can't rightly say until I start cutting."

Murder? Now that would be new. It was practically unheard of down here. Sure, people got into fights, and she'd had to step in and separate a handful of drunken brawls, but nothing as bad as murder. If it were true, and this man had been murdered, Beckett didn't know how she felt about conducting a homicide investigation again. It had been so long. Deep down she wasn't sure she was entirely ready to step into those shoes again. She had grown complacent with her easy, uneventful life down here. A murder investigation would complicate things. But, if she had to, then Kate Beckett would not shrink from her duty.

"Who is he?" Beckett questioned, returning to the doctor's side, kneeling down to help him pry the uncovered man's hand off the ground. It was stuck, frozen solid, hard.

"No idea. Soon as I get his clothes off him, I'll check his tags," Marston breathed heavily, a white puff of air billowing out around his bearded face. He brushed at the snow, revealing the jacket underneath. "Red jacket. He's American." He shifted, planting his knees more firmly on the hard ground, hoping to get some more leverage.

Beckett gritted her teeth and winced, ignoring the twinge in the center of her chest from the scar that had never seemed to have completely healed. The cold certainly wasn't helping. Not for the first time, Beckett wondered why she'd requested this assignment.

There was a resounding crack, like bone snapping, and the arm finally came free of the frozen ground. Beckett and Marston tumbled back into the snow, landing on their backsides, neither having anticipated the sudden freeing. Marston grumbled and cursed. Beckett stifled down a moan when the surgical scar along her side pulled, sending a vicious flash of pain through her veins.

"Dammit!" Marston swore, working his way back up to his knees. The dead man's hand was missing a fair amount of skin.

Beckett followed, crawling forward to join him beside the body. "Try to save his _other_ hand, okay, Doc? We might need to run his prints."

The Doc nodded with a sardonic expression, giving her a sidelong glance. "Sure, kid. I'll just ask Mister Popsicle here to cooperate."

She rolled her eyes, but appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood. Marston placed a hand on her shoulder for support as he heaved himself up to his feet. He turned around and waved at the pilot loitering by the plane, puffing on his cigarette.

"Hey, Hobson!" he hollered, and then chuckled to himself before adding, "We could use a hand."

XXX

A large gray cargo plane had just arrived at Williams Field when she got back to McMurdo. The Lockheed LC-130 stood out in the compacted permanent snow runway, the rear ramp extended down as the crew unloaded supplies for the upcoming winter season. There was also a line of parka clad individuals waiting to board. It was always cold down here on the most southern continent, but it was especially cold during winter. And winter was coming. Base operations would then slow until the fierce storms died down. Afterwards the work crews and scientists would come back, and soon life in the polar research settlement would return to normal.

The snow crunched under Beckett's boots as she marched down the rough street. Hobson, the pilot, was checking in with the transport chief, seeing what other runs were needed. She wished Reggie Talbot, the pilot who had spotted the frozen corpse had been available earlier to take her up to ASB, where he'd been stationed, and then out to the body. She could have questioned him then. But with winter-over fast approaching, transport had him busying making a run between McMurdo and Concordia Station to help ferry out those leaving. She would need to speak with the pilot soon, and as she hiked onward she hoped Talbot would be available when that time came.

McMurdo Station. Named after McMurdo Sound, which in turn was named after Lt. Archibald McMurdo, who served aboard the infamous _H.M.S. Terror_ way back in 1841. It was the largest base on the ice, with a summer head-count of over 1200, though during the next three weeks that number would fall to about 200. Even on the coast people didn't like sticking around for the dark months. The personnel down here were split three ways: The beakers, down here for research, spending their grant money. The support staff—custodians, cooks, mechanics, freelance pilots. And the navy, or more precisely, those members of the Naval Support Forces Antarctica—The N.S.F.A.

The base itself was an ugly sprawl of prefab buildings, powerlines, and above ground sewage pipes. It wasn't pretty, but it was the closest one could come to civilization down here in Antarctica, which included a harbor, three airfields, a heliport, and more than one hundred buildings. Sometimes Beckett thought it looked more like a Siberian work camp than the largest research base and logistical hub in the southern pole. Off in the background, she could see smoke rising from Mt. Erebus on Ross Island.

Stuffing her gloved hands in to her pockets, Beckett trudged along, heading for the main complex and the command center. Marston had stayed back at Amundsen-Scott Base to tend to the body, getting it into the medical bay there, where he could start the process of thawing the poor bastard before he performed an autopsy. She would have stayed as well, but she needed to make a report to the McMurdo base commander, and with something like this, she couldn't risk doing it over open radio channels.

A snow buggy rolled by, transporting those who'd arrived on the Lockheed. Beckett could have ridden back with them from the airfields, but she felt like walking. She needed time to think before reporting to the base commander.

Hood up, she ducked her head down and continued on, absently glancing at the row of buildings she passed, most were research, some barracks. The potential of a murder having been committed did not thrill her. Out here on the ice, there was an unspoken trust amongst the inhabitants. Humans were not meant to live in places like this, so you needed to rely on the others around you to survive. If someone had breached that trust, then it was very serious.

Approaching the operations building, Beckett marched passed the parked vehicles and climbed the stairs to the doors, pushing through them. After entering the vestibule—she preferred calling it that rather an airlock—Beckett sealed the doors and waited a moment before tugging her hood down and unfastening the front of her parka. She pulled her gloves off and shoved them into her pockets as she stepped towards the inner doors, shoving them open and stepping across the threshold into the moderate warmth of the building's interior.

The place was buzzing with activity. Everyone was preparing for the winter-over. Beckett sidestepped around two men carrying boxes, and made her way through the network of corridors into the operations center, where the base commander was overseeing the hectic preparations. He wore a headset and was cursing at someone on the other end of the line, clearly exasperated. Spotting Beckett lurking in the doorway, he waved her over.

"I've got a pair of idiots out on Ross Island refusing to come back in," he grumbled. "Apparently, they're too busy collecting 'volcanic information' on Mt. Erebus." He literally did the air quotes, indicating to her that he wasn't buying their explanation.

Beckett bit her lower lip, suppressing a smirk. Out of everyone she knew down here in Antarctica, no one needed a vacation more than Sam Murphy. They had an okay working relationship. It had been rocky at the start when he'd flirted with her, but she nipped that in the bud quickly. Since then, they had developed a somewhat friendly rapport that was just fine with her.

"How was your trip?" he asked after a beat.

"Peachy," she replied with a smirk, earning one from him in return.

"So what was it?"

Her grin dropped. "A body."

"One of ours?" Murphy questioned, turning momentarily to accept a clipboard from an assistant. He scanned over it as Beckett replied.

"Don't know," she said with a shrug. "But he was wearing a red jacket."

"No tags?"

"No face."

He grimaced. "Yikes. That happened a couple of years back…"  
"Yeah, I know," Beckett stopped him before he could finish. "Doc told me. Emperor penguin. Though, somehow, I don't think that's the case this time. Look, can we talk about this in private."

"Um, sure," Murphy nodded, handing the clipboard to his deputy, Marsha Holmes, and then leading the way into his office.

She closed the door behind them. Murphy turned at the sound, and eyed Beckett with a confused look. His eyes grew wide and he shook his head.

"Now hold on a second, you suspect… what? Murder?" he asked, almost incredulously.

"Maybe, yes," Beckett admitted, albeit a tad reluctantly.

She did what she believed was a very good job of bottling up the turmoil of emotions inside her that came with the idea of investigating her first homicide case in nearly two years. It was something she never thought she'd have to deal with again once she had left the NYPD's employment.

"Look, I don't like it either," she rushed to assure, noticing the worried and cautious expression on Murphy's face. "But I cannot discount the possibility. He was out in the middle of nowhere. There are no camps or stations nearby, and… well, there's the smashed in face. And if we discount wildlife, it heavily implies someone wanted to hide his identity for us, or at the very least, make it harder for us."

Murphy pursed his lips and cursed. "Damn," he said, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. "Couldn't have happen at a worse time. We're gearing up for winter-over."

"I know," Beckett said. "But, trust me, murder hardly ever picks a convenient time."

He inclined his head, agreeing. "I appreciate your discretion." She watched as he scrubbed a hand down his face as he heaved in a deep breath. "You up for this, Beckett?"

"Of course," she insisted, frowning slightly at the implications behind his question. "I was a homicide detective."  
"I know," he assured, holding up a hand to placate her, offering a look of apology. "I also know why you came down here."

"I'll be fine," Beckett persisted, firming up her stance.

"Okay," Murphy said, narrowing her eyes. "But let's not call the Feds yet. I want to know for certain before we make that call."

Beckett ground her teeth. She wasn't happy about that, but she inclined her head in reluctant agreement.

"Good," Murphy bobbed his head, looking a little more certain of his decision. "Now, get back to ASB and run your investigation, Marshal."


	3. Chapter 2

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 2**_

* * *

The South Pole.

Yes, there actually was a real pole. And it was red and white striped, like a candy cane. But it was purely ceremonial. Still, it was there, standing proudly in the ice and snow amongst an array of international flags that fluttered in the chilly polar wind.

This was Amundsen-Scott Base, also known as ASB. It was much smaller than McMurdo, a few dozen specialist buildings surrounding two rectangular buildings raised on hydraulic stands, interconnected by tubular shaped walkways. The base stood out here in the bottom of the world, alone on the unforgiving ice.

Off in the distance, a snowcat mounted with a plow pushed small drifts of snow off the runway onto a large berm. They had been busy here. Several other berms flank both sides of the runway. As Kate Beckett disembarked from the helicopter, blades still whirling above her head, she gazed out at the ice, watching as the snowmobiles go about their work. She shivered despite the layer of clothing she was bundled up in.

Pulling her hood up over her head, she grabbed her duffel bag and offered a wave of thanks to the copter pilot before making her way across the landing pad, heading for the front entrance of the base. Across the top was a huge poster that proclaimed _PREPARE FOR WINTER-OVER EVAC_. Piles of packed equipment were everywhere. Beckett gripped the handle of her duffel and trudged through the snow.

As she approached the front, she was startled when the reinforced door suddenly blew open. She jumped back, smirking as half a dozen naked men wearing only boots and face masks streamed out of the opening, screaming and yelling. This wasn't the first time she'd witnessed this macho stunt during her stint here in Antarctica. She watched as the naked men ran out around the ceremonial South Pole, right back past her, and then towards the base entrance. Beckett cocked her head, allowing herself to admire the more athletic and toned posteriors as the runners disappeared through the opened doorway.

She shook her head and chuckled. "Bottom of the freaking planet," she mumbled to herself, a bemused quirk to her lips, before hiking up her duffel bag and walking the rest of the way to the base entrance.

Music was blaring out of the interior base intercom speakers. Beckett pursed her lips and rolled her eyes as she worked her way through the airlock, tugging her hood down and removing her gloves, stowing them away in the pockets on her parka. She stepped over the inner threshold and into the Amundsen-Scott Base. Just like McMurdo, the base was buzzing with activity. People came and went as she strode down the corridor, not needing to stop to ask for directions. Beckett had been up—or rather down—to ASB enough over her tenure that she knew her way around. It was almost like a second home.

A smirk touched her lips as she glanced up at the party balloons and other festive, tropical-themed, decorations adorning the hallways. At the junction, on the bulletin board, a sign read: DON'T FORGET THE EVE OF EVAC PARTY. She stopped and looked it over, seeing what other notices were up. The party didn't interest her at all. Kate Beckett wasn't one for socializing. She much preferred spending her time off—which was considerable—cuddled up in her quarters with a good book.

Seeing nothing of import, Beckett tightened her grip on her duffel bag and turned right, sidestepping around two researchers busy setting up a keg on a flimsy card table. She made her way through the station, crossing the tubular connection tunnel, eventually arriving at a door with 'U.S. MARSHAL' stenciled on the front. Digging into her pocket, Beckett produced a key and unlocked the door, quickly entering it. Once inside, Beckett closed the door, and leaned back against it, letting out a sigh.

Her office here was smaller than the one in McMurdo. An even smaller holding room was located adjacent to her office, a tiny viewing window in the center of the door. The little desk with a computer and lamp was covered with a blanket. On the wall behind it was a map of Antarctica with substation positions marked with red tacks and in block letters. A slit of a window near the back of the small room provided her with a view of the South Pole and the vast expanse of ice beyond that.

Beckett pulled the blanket off the desk and neatly folded it up, placing it off to the side on a cheap metal credenza. She slid down into the rolling office chair, grimacing when she noticed that someone had messed with the height settings. Ignoring it for now, Beckett booted up her computer console and heaved herself back up to her feet. She walked over to the other wall, where a gun safe sat. She entered in her passcode, waited for the telltale chunk and clunk of the lock mechanism releasing, before opening the safe and depositing her service weapon, a Glock 26, inside.

Spinning back around, Becket returned to her desk, pleased to discover that the computer had booted up without issue. Once she had it freeze on her several times before she got it to work. She really didn't have the best equipment to work with down here.

After adjusting her seat to the proper height setting, Beckett sat down and logged into the U.S. Marshal Service online work space. There was a message from her supervisor, working out of the U.S. Embassy in Australia. It was a heads-up, or more like a warning. Apparently, some bureaucratic asshole from the United Nations had decided to perform an audit on her Antarctica office. He was schedule to make his review after the winter-over. She grumbled at that, a little peeved that anyone would consider her work subpar or questionable enough to issue an audit. She would not be looking forward to it.

Nothing else was of any importance, so Beckett logged off and shutdown her computer. She'd learned that very early on in her stint down here at the bottom of the world. Power needed to be preserved, so only essential systems were left on 24/7. Everything else was either shutdown or put in standby mode when not in use.

Grabbing her duffel, Beckett flicked the lights off and exited her office, locking the door behind her. She made a quick stop to her even smaller quarters, dumping off her bag, before meandering down the corridors towards the medical bay in search of Dr. Marston. She knew it might be too early for any progress on an autopsy, but she'd like to check in with him.

When she poked her head inside the room, it was empty, save for the icicle melting on the examination table. Heating lamps had been placed around the frozen corpse to help along the thawing. Beckett noticed that the corner was filled with boxes, packaged with tracking labels attached. Odd. She hadn't expected to see that. Was something going on that Doc hadn't filled her in on? Beckett frowned, a feeling of unease filling her chest.

The other door in the back of the room was open, but the light was off.

"Doc?" she called out, just in case.

Nothing. He wasn't here.

Beckett turned and ducked out of the room. She nearly collided with one of the ice runners from outside coming from the other end of the corridor. He was naked, except for the small towel wrapped around his waist. The man chuckled, flashing a cocky smile.

"Well, hello Marshal," he winked, leaning back as if to provide her with a full view of his sculpted abs and chest, skin still glistening from the hot shower he'd just come from. He even flexed his muscles, like that would impress her.

It did not.

Beckett recognized the grin and the mop of black hair. Kieran Russell, Aussie pilot. A hotshot. Thought he was all that, and more. She had to deal with his unwelcomed flirtations on occasion. Thankfully, none of her assignments had involved hitching a lift with him as a pilot.

"Russell," she grounded out, irritated at his macho man display. Beckett made a quick sidestep around him, scowling as he fell into stride with her as she marched back down the corridor. "Have you seen Doc?"

"Out back," Russell informed her, gesturing in the general direction. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking the freezer for a popsicle," she replied icily, hoping he took the hint. He didn't.

"No shit?" Russell laughed.

"It got called in this morning," she replied, ignoring his boyish smirk.

"So that's what Doc's thawing in the lab," he said. "That'll take some time." He reached out a hand to stop her, and she grimaced at the unwelcomed touch. She sliced a hard look up at him, but that didn't stop him, nor his cocky smirk. "Here's an idea, Beckett, why don't you stay here with me and we'll party, just the two of us. Put those cuffs of yours to good work. What do you say?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Beckett pursed her lips, momentarily recalling another cocky jackass who used to waggle his eyebrows at her. But the similarities between Kieran Russell and Richard Castle ended there. While Castle's attentions, though uninvited, had been playful and—if she was honest with herself—flattering, and held more substance beyond what, she had accused, a sexual conquest. Russell, on the other hand, was just a smarmy bastard. Castle was twice—no, more—thrice the man Kieran Russell could ever hope to be.

 _God, I miss him_.

The thought came unbidden into her mind.

Shaking it off, she glanced up at Russell, pulling her lower lip into her mouth, eyeing his chiseled frame, toying with him.

"Were you the second guy from the front?" she asked.

"Yeah," Russell declared, puffing up.

Her eyes dropped down below his waist, and she smirked. "Yeah, not interested," she said with a chuckle, and then left him there with a disgruntled look plastered on his face.

XXX

She found him out back, like Russell had said.

Dr. Mark Marston stood on the ice wearing a red parka, trimmed with black fur, and emblazoned with dozens of emblems and patches from years of Antarctic service. He was clutching a golf club in his hand and pacing back and forth like a sergeant during roll call. Beckett tucked her hands in the pockets of her parka and stayed back, lingering out of sight, smiling to herself. She'd seen this performance before. It was almost a ritual for the good doctor. He liked terrifying the newbies. It was quite the amusing spectacle. And she liked to watch.

"In less than five days we begin winter-over," he declared with a grin. "The sky will go completely black and stay that way for six months." He spun around and stalked back the way he came, surveying the fresh crop, all attempting to stand at attention. But without their jackets, every one of them just shivered uncontrollably in the wind.

"The sane ninety percent of the population will be leaving the ice," he continued. "Extreme weather conditions make it impossible for planes from the outside world to land. You have chosen, for your own misguided reasons, to stay. And it is my responsibility to teach you beakers how not to die."

Marston stopped abruptly, moving his club in line with a hot pink golf ball sitting on the side. He shifted into position, and gave it a good whack. The ball went sailing into the icy wind, disappearing in the packed snow beyond the boundaries of the base.

"Time?" he questioned casually, as if it was an afterthought.

An Asian man, holding a stopwatch, glanced down at the device, almost stupidly.

"T… T… Three minutes," he stated with clattering teeth.

Marston gave a thoughtful nod. "Your core body temperatures have fallen to approximately 97 degrees. You are shivering uncontrollably—losing basic motor skills. You're having trouble focusing on even the simplest tasks." He glanced pointedly at the Asian man struggling to read the stopwatch in his shaking hands. "In short, you are well on your way to dying, and it had only been two-hundred seconds." He waited a beat, grinning, enjoying himself far too much. "Now put your coats on."

The class all struggled into their winter jackets. Marston had taken pity on a few who, in their diminished capacity, had suddenly forgot just how to put them on.

"Your life is dependent on your awareness of the weather," the doctor continued. "So be aware. Be vigilant. There is a condition that arises around her known as a whiteout. You don't want to get caught in one. Winds kick up snow that's lain on the ice for thousands of years—can't see six inches in front of your nose. Temperature plummets to triple digits. We've found bodies less than a foot from safety and warmth."

It was at the moment that Beckett showed herself, walking up with her hands still shoved into her pockets. Marston spotted her and his eyes brightened.

"Class, here we have another of the many hazards found on Antarctica," he announced with an amused expression. "Say hello to United States Marshal Kate Beckett."

Through a disjointed, chattering chorus, the class manage to repeat the phrase. Beckett offered them all a smile and nod in greeting.

"Back when she first arrived, Marshal Beckett outlasted all of you nerds," Marston announced to the class. "Don't let her looks fool you, boys, she's one tough cookie."

"Thanks for the intro, Doc," Beckett rolled her eyes.

"A pleasure, Kate, as always," he grinned, handing her the golf club. "Here for the duration?"

She shrugged, shifting her grip as she stepped up to another hot pink golf ball lined up on the snow. "Until the popsicle is sorted," she asserted, and then swung hard and the ball went flying.

Marston let out a low whistle, impressed. "Still, five days, not that much time," he added. "Doubt we'd be finished before the evac."

"Yeah," Beckett conceded, turning back around and handing him the club back. "But we can try."


	4. Chapter 3

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 3**_

* * *

"It'll be a while before the body thaws," Marston told her as they hiked back up to the station, following behind the still shivering group of newbies.

Beckett inclined her head, having suspected that. "I know," she verbalized it anyways. "It's okay. I still need to meet with the pilot who spotted the body."

"Reggie Talbot?" Doc asked.

"Yes," she confirmed with a nod, entering the airlock behind him.

"You should check in with Rhonda, then," Marston said. "See if he's on the duty roster and where he's at. A lot of planes coming and going right now."

"Yeah, I know," she grumbled, pushing open the inner door and stalking in. "Winter-over." Beckett paused, letting Marston cross the threshold. She frowned. "Speaking of… I saw your boxes packed up. What was all that BS last month about, 'I'm never going back—I'll die here. Scatter my ashes over the pole'?"

Marston hesitated, glancing at her with knitted eyebrows. "People change, Kate," he offered, too vague for her liking.

"Not you," she insisted, cocking her head to the side.

He pulled his hood down, and started unbuttoning his parka. "I got a card from my granddaughter inviting me to her fifth birthday party. You know, I've never even met her."

"Or mentioned her!" Beckett exclaimed, surprised. She smiled and clapped his back, genuinely happy for him. Marston was a good man, and he deserved some happiness after all his long years of service. "A grandchild? Doc, that's great."

Marston smiled back, appreciative of her cheer. But then he pressed his lips into a firm line and grew serious. "It got me thinking," he said, thoughtfully. "I need to be a better grandfather than I was a father. It's time I deal with my life. I've been down here a lot longer than I probably should have." He paused, and looked at her with a knowing eye. "I hope you understand."

She offered him a reassuring squeeze of her hand. "I do," Beckett assured, not knowing who she was trying to convince more, him or herself. "Meeting your granddaughter for the first time isn't something you can pass up, especially when she's invited you to her fifth birthday party. Big time for a little girl."

Marston grinned.

"But, just the same, I will miss you, Doc," she admitted, unable to conceal how crestfallen she was at losing him. Marston had been her rock down here, her one true friend. She would be a lot lonelier with him gone.

"And I'll miss you, Marshal," he reciprocated, clasping her hand. They shared a long look, soaking in the moment, now knowing that they would soon part paths.

Beckett was astonished at how hard the news was hitting her. She'd always been good at bottling in her emotions, but learning that Marston wasn't going to be around during winter-over, she found herself struggling to maintain her usual professional decorum.

"Come here, kid," Marston said, pulling her into a hug. "Don't you fret, you could always request a transfer, get out of here, back to somewhere warm." He paused for a beat, and then added. "Finally tell that guy you like that you're crazy about him."

She huffed, and pulled back, gracing him with one of her famous glares. Marston stared back.

"There, back to normal!" he chuckled.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes, refusing to admit he was right. "Shut up," Beckett said, playfully jabbing him in the chest and moving away. "You go check that body. I'll check in with Rhonda."

"Will do, Marshal!" he hollered after her with a mock salute, still laughing to himself as he walked off in the other direction.

XXX

The Operations Center of Amundsen-Scott Base was a large room by base standards. A gigantic map of Antarctica dominated one wall with the international stations and research outposts flagged with pins that had their country flags on them. A grid of EVAC TIMES of each station and outpost was next to it. As Beckett entered the room, a tech was in the process of changing a few. Another tech sat at a console, lined with communications equipment and computers. Others hustled about. Evacuation for winter-over was always a hectic time.

Station Manager Rhonda Steward, a fiery red-haired Irish woman, was barking into a headset. Her long curly hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. Perfunctory and efficient, like the woman herself.

"I'll have them boomerang back and pick up the load—just have it ready," she was saying.

"Guys got science lab 1B all shut down," a tech informed her.

"Good," Rhonda nodded, crossing her arms as she moved to another console. "Have them check all the pressure levels on the hydraulics, then clear the exterior storage bins. Make sure we're not leaving anything out there."

The woman's eyes glance up and she spotted Beckett lurking in the doorway. There was a flash of awkward tension in her gaze before it was quickly masked with professional demeanor. Rhonda didn't have anything against Beckett personally, it was more that she saw her arrival as an obstacle to the efficiency of her station. Beckett's arrival often heralded ill tidings, resulting in work stoppages and interruptions. And those were things Rhonda Steward abhorred above all else.

"Rhonda," Beckett greeted with a nod, stepping into the operations center. She almost said, _permission to come aboard_ , but refrained from such humor. Rhonda was too business-like to appreciate it. Castle would have liked it, she absently thought. Beckett could almost visualize his mirth-filled smirk and twinkling eyes.

A thin smile formed on Rhonda's lips, tight and professional, polite if not exactly welcoming. "Sam told me you'd be coming up," Rhonda said, a disgruntled expression forming on her face. "Nice of you to finally check in."

Beckett bit her tongue on the retort that wanted out. Nothing would be gained by arguing with this woman. She had a murder to investigate. "Just doing my job, Rhonda."

The redhead nodded. "Yes," she said, eyes narrowing. "I'm not halting anything for you this time, Beckett. Winter-over is fast approaching, and we have a schedule to uphold. So, whatever it is, get it done… and fast."

"I'll try my best," Beckett gritted out, keeping a tight grip on her emotions. She wouldn't snap at Rhonda's bait. "I'm looking for a pilot. Reggie Talbot."

It was Rhonda's turn to grit her teeth. Beckett knew that the woman wasn't keen on relinquishing a pilot during the current winter preparations, but Commander Murphy's orders had already been transmitted. "Fine," she gestured to one of the techs, who nodded. "I'll have him meet you in the hangar."

A moment of silence lingered between the pair as neither had anything else to say.

"Yeah, good," Beckett nodded crisply, and then left.

XXX

Shit. It was cold.

Beckett tugged her parka tighter around her slender frame, pulling her hood up over her head, trying not to shiver as she hiked through the packed snow on her way towards the doomed hangar bay. She spotted a handful of pilots lingering outside the entrance, puffing on cigarettes during their brief break. Unfortunately, she recognized one.

Kieran Russell grinned at her approach. "Change your mind, Marshal?"

Beckett suppressed an eye roll and scoffed. "Definitely not interested," she said, pointedly glancing down towards his crotch before pushing onwards.

The other pilots loitering around the hangar entrance laughed and elbowed Russell, clearly enjoying his humiliation. She allowed herself a small smile at that. The asshole deserved to be put down a peg or two… or three. Soon, however, their jovial manner was interrupted by the crew chief, a burly man with a thick brown beard, who came out of his shack, shouting names and flight routes. Gus Berkhead was a tough crew chief. Being a veteran of the ice, he disapproved of the lazy attitude of some of his younger pilots.

"Hey, Gus," Beckett called, veering towards the shack.

"Beckett!" he hooted with a laugh. "Not that it's not nice to see your pretty face, but who's fucked up this time? Was it Keller? Or Russell? That guy's a cocky sonofabitch. One of these days he's going to get himself killed out there on the ice."

"One could only hope," Beckett said with a cheeky smile, then frowned, disappointed in herself. Yes, Kieran Russell was a jackass, but that didn't mean she wanted him dead. Besides, it was her job to 'protect' all these assholes. Down here, she was the law. Shaking her head, she looked back up at the crew chief. "I'm actually looking for Reggie Talbot."

"Talbot?" Gus scrunched up his face in thought, stroking his bushy beard. "Newbie. Just got back from a long run. He's on break. Still by his prop, last I saw."

"Thanks, Gus," she said with a wave, pushing her gloved hands into the pockets of her red parka as she headed through the opened hangar doors, ignoring the leering looks cast her way by the shuffling pilots, especially Russell.

It was still cold inside the lofty hangar, but considerably less so, thanks to shield against the wind chill. Along one side of the hangar interior was a line of snowmobiles, brackets on each side by a pair of red snowcats. The rest of the hangar was occupied by three double prop Twin Otters, all modified for winter weather. She found her man by the third plane, still sitting in the cab, clipboard in hand.

Rounding the propeller, Beckett ducked her head as she climbed up into the opened backdoor, rapping her knuckles against the frame. "Reggie Talbot?" she asked.

The African American man startled, clipboard flying from his hands as he jumped in surprise.

"Damn, lady, you scared the shit out of me!" he exclaimed with an unmistakable intonation of someone from Brooklyn.

"You Reggie?" she questioned.

"Reginald B. Talbot III," the pilot nodded. "Reggie to my friends." He glanced her over. "You can call me, Reggie."

"Okay, Reggie," she replied with a grin, grabbing the grip and hauling herself up into the cab with a grunt. "I've got some questions for you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Wait," he frowned. "Who the hell are you?"

Beckett dug her badge out and showed it to him. "Kate Beckett, U.S. Marshal Service."

"No shit."

"No shit," she replied with a tight grin.

"You here about the body?"

"I'm here about the body," she said with a nod.

"You need me to take you out there or something?" he asked, brow knitted together in a befuddled expression.

She shook her head. "We've already taken care of that," she asserted. "Normally, yes, I'd have liked you to have taken us out there, but you were on a run at the time, so Murphy had Hobson take Doc and me out."

"Oh," he nodded, looking down with a frown. "So it was a body then?"

"Yes, it was," she confirmed. She waited a beat, studying him. He was young, perhaps late 20s, early 30s. And like almost all the men here, sported a beard, but he clearly took the time to groom, keeping it trimmed close to the skin, styled. _Yep_ , she concurred, _definitely a newbie_. "McClain Valley?"

"Yeah, what about it?" he asked nervously.

"What were you doing out there?"

Reggie shifted in his seat. "I went to evac a camp," he offered. "Had to fly off route to get around a storm. Got down low to avoid some turbulence, and there it was."

Beckett nodded, mentally cataloging his statement. She'd write it down later. This job wasn't like her days as an NYPD detective. She rarely carried a notepad around, as she hardly ever needed to write things down. But with this investigation, she would have to work it like she would any homicide back in New York.

Her heart clenched a bit at that thought, remembering her old team: Javier Esposito. Kevin Ryan. And, last but not least, Richard Castle. Pursing her lips and frowning, Beckett refocused on the present. She glanced back at Reggie, looking around the interior of the cockpit. Every pilot added their own personal touch to their vehicle. She noticed a picture of a young boy, around seven, wearing a Yankee cap dangling from the instrument panel. It was frame in popsicle sticks with "I love you, Daddy" written around the perimeter.

"That your son?" she asked, pointing at it.

Reggie jerked his head over his shoulder to look at the photo. His mouth spread wide in a beaming smile. "Yeah, that's Nate."

"He's cute. Has your eyes."

Reggie nodded, chuckling. "Lucky he got his momma's brain. Kid's smart."

"So why aren't you with him?" she questioned, flicking her eyes back to the pilot.

He shrugged. "Money's tight right now. Janelle and I wanna buy a house. Give Nate a yard to play in. His own room. Stuff I never had. It's tough down here, yeah, but the bonus pay is good. Really good. Enough that I can give them all that."

She nodded, her traitorous mind calling of images of what her life could have been if she hadn't been so afraid. _I'm a coward_ , she thought. If only she'd been brave enough to admit the truth and embrace it, then she wouldn't be down here at the bottom of the world, freezing her ass off.

"Yo, Marshal? You alright?" Reggie asked, brow furrowed.

"Yeah, fine," she bobbed her head. "Back to the body, did you notice anything else out there? Tracks, signs another plane had been in the area, anything?"

"No," he shook his head, looking disappointed he couldn't provide more information. "Nothing but ice and snow."

"Okay," she said, thinking. "From where you saw the body, what's the closest camp?"

"From there?" Reggie squinted his eyes as he thought. "Brits… I think. About eighty miles west from that spot."

That could be something. She'd have to check on it later.

"Anything else, Marshal?" he asked. "Am I free to go?"

"For now, yeah," Beckett gave a curt nod, turning to leave, then stopping. "Back in New York, I'd ask you not to leave town, but out here I don't think that's necessary."

"No shit, you from New York, too?" he exclaimed.

"Born and raised," she bobbed her head. "Detective, NYPD."

"No kidding?" he said, grinning. "What the hell you doing down here?"

Beckett offered a shrug. "Yeah, well, I guess we all make stupid mistakes." And with that, she left, bundled up in her parka, heading back out the hangar, mind churning with more questions and not enough answers.


	5. Chapter 4

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 4**_

* * *

"Still thawing out, kid," Marston said from his perch on the rolling stool in front of his desk. He was dressed down to a thick sweater, the same color as his pepper-gray hair, and olive colored cargo pants. "Sorry, but we can't rush these things."

Beckett stood off to the side, leaning her hip against the desk, pointedly avoiding the pile of boxes stacked around them. She was still a little miffed that the doctor hadn't told her about his departure earlier. It was like a trapdoor had been opened up under her feet and she'd gone tumbling down into the unknown abyss below. His friendship had been invaluable, and she'd miss him very much. But she didn't begrudge him his decision to leave Antarctica. Family was important. Beckett knew that all too well.

"Can we at least get fingerprints from him?" she asked, hopeful, shifting back to the present. The investigation was at a standstill until they could get an identity on their victim. And the waiting was driving her crazy.

"Yeah, we could do that," Marston bobbed his head, putting his hands on his knees as he heaved himself up with a grunt. He grimaced. "Do yourself a favor, Kate, and don't get old."

She bit her lower lip to suppress a smirk as she followed him. "I'll work on that, Doc."

Marston approached the thawing body on the examination table. Beckett pursed her lips and frowned, still finding the smashed in face both unsettling and disturbing. The heat lamps arrayed around the frozen body had already begun to work, but only just. A thin layer of moisture was sprinkled over the body, and a small pool of water was beginning to form on the table.

"Does it bother you that no one's issued a missing person report?" she questioned, standing off to the side, arms crossed as she furrowed her brow.

The doctor shrugged. "Perhaps no one thinks he is missing," he supplied. "It gets awfully hectic during winter-over evac."

"Sure, yeah, but this," Beckett frowned. "We've never had someone just go missing and no one reporting it. And how the hell did he get out there in the middle of nowhere? There were no tracks. And Talbot said he didn't see any sign of other planes in the area."

"Sounds to me like you and your gut are talking again," Marston noted with an approving smile. "Detective juices flowing again, eh?"

She didn't answer, instead just remained standing there watching as he gingerly lifted one of the dead man's hands off the examination table. Marston paused, looking hesitant. He glanced up at her with almost pleading eyes.

"Let's ask ourselves if we really need to do this," he said, cautious, as if speaking to a spooked animal. "We both want to do the right thing here, Kate. But come on, no one gets murdered in Antarctica. Hell, we don't even know that it was a murder."

"Not until you do an autopsy," Beckett pointed out.

Still, Marston looked reluctant. "But it might not be, Kate. We're just creating more work for ourselves than we need. Think about it. Dead is dead."

Beckett raised her eyes to meet his. They stared at one another for a long moment. She understood his reservations, but she couldn't just let this slide. It happened on her watch, and she needed to do something.

"You really think this wasn't murder?" she demanded.

"It's suspicious, I'll grant you that… but _murder_? Here? Come on, Kate, that just doesn't happen here. It'd would be a first," he stammered.

"Exactly, this would be the _first_ murder in Antarctica, Mark," she said, insistent, not backing down. It felt good. She felt like her old self; the one that wouldn't take no for an answer, the one that was relentless in the hunt for justice, for the truth. "And I can't just pretend it didn't happen. It's in my DNA. It's what makes me… _me_. I worked homicide in New York, remember? And I was damn good at it. Damn good. I can't let this go until I know the truth." She paused for a beat, momentarily averting her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Marston sighed, his shoulders slumping a bit. She did feel for him, knew he wanted off the ice, wanted to make it back to the States in time for his granddaughter's birthday. He deserved that. But right now, she needed him and his expertise. There was no one else down here as qualified as Dr. Mark Marston to help her in this investigation.

After a moment, he shook his head and offered a wiry smile. "Why did I know you were going to say that?"

Beckett smiled back, letting him know how much she appreciated not just his work ethic, but his friendship. "Thanks, Mark. I mean it."

"All right," he cleared his throat, dipping his head down. "Let's see what we've got here." His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the epidermis along the palm and fingertips. All their hopes were on this hand, since the other one had been damaged when they'd pried the corpse off the ice.

"Well?" she asked, impatient.

"Hand me a towel, will you?"

She did.

Marston gently worked the surgical towel over the hand, careful and precise. "Yeah, I think this should do," the Doc decreed after a moment more of inspection. He turned towards one of the long supply cabinets and removed a fingerprinting kit.

Down here on the ice, Beckett had come to except that the forensics she'd grown used to relying on back during her career with the NYPD were a luxury in comparison to what she had access to down here. But then again, she had never needed to dust for fingerprints before. Most of the stuff she had dealt with was minor misdemeanors that were hardly worth her time.

"Wanna do the honors?" Marston inquired, offering her a smile when he had finished setting up the ink pad and paper.

Beckett nodded, accepting the proffered blue latex gloves. Slapping them on with precise movements, she then set to work rubbing the dead man's fingers across the ink pad, smearing black ink over the ridges and whirls that made up his fingerprints. Then, very carefully, she pressed and rolled the digits, one by one, into their assigned box on the form Dr. Marston had laid out on the tray. Once complete, Beckett pulled the gloves off and deposited them in a waste bin.

"This should work," Marston examined her work with an approving nod. "Good job. I'll get one of those techs in Ops to digitalize this and send it up the ladder."

"I can do that, Doc," Beckett asserted, grabbing for the form.

"No, I got it, kid," Marston insisted, pulling the paper out of her reach. "You've been busy all day. Get yourself some downtime. Take a shower, and then relax. Read a book. Or take a nap. Whatever. Just relax. I'll take care of everything else. Besides," he jerked his head towards Mister Popsicle, "it'll take another hour or two until this one's done thawing out, and for douche-face to respond."

A laugh tumbled from her lips, even as she rolled her eyes at Marston's nickname for her superior stationed in the U.S. Embassy in Australia. "Van Decker is a douche, yes, but at least he's a competent douche, even if he's lazy." She paused, considering. "You sure?"

"Yeah, Kate," Marston said. "Not like I haven't done it before. And, like I said, you need some downtime. Take it when you can."

Her eyebrows knitted together as she thought about it. "Fine, okay," she conceded. And then held up a finger. "Just… tell me the moment we get a response. The moment."

"Don't you worry, I'll take care of everything," Marston assured. "You just get some rest." He frowned, glancing down at the body. "Something tells me we're going to be really busy soon."

XXX

Alone in her quarters at Amundsen-Scott Base, and with the door hatch securely locked, Kate Beckett slowly stripped out of the many layers she wore. Her parka hit the floor first, followed by her trousers and sweat pants underneath that. Then came her old NYPD sweater, and a thick wool t-shirt. Closing her eyes, she let out a soft contented sigh, stretching languidly. Even though they kept her warm, it was nice being out of all those suffocating clothes. She felt much better now in a simple shirt and leggings, feet covered in a pair of warm wool socks.

As the room was small, it didn't take her many steps to reach the bed, where earlier in the day she had unceremoniously dumped her duffel bag. Unzipping it, she began to unpack, storing her clothes in the small dresser off to the side. She grabbed her bag of toiletries, and took them to the even smaller bathroom. Space was limited on base, but one of the perks of her position as U.S. Marshal was that she didn't have to use the communal bathrooms.

Padding back into the main room, which really wasn't that much larger than a walk-in closet, Beckett picked up her discarded clothing, tossing them into the duffel, which she then deposited on the other side of the small room. Gathering her hair up in one hand, she grabbed a tie with the other, and then worked her brunette strands into a messy bun. Satisfied, Beckett placed one hand on the side of the bed to steady herself as she bent down to tug her socks off.

Beckett headed back to the ensuite, yanking the simple undershirt up and over her head, throwing it back on the narrow bed as she went. Wiggling her hips, she worked her leggings off. She paused before the small mirror above the sink and stepped back, twisting and contouring her torso around, scrutinizing her reflection. Ever so gently, she reached up and lightly brushed her fingertips along the surgical scar along her side. It had faded over the last two years, but sometimes it still pulled. Her eyes tentatively flirted up and over to the spot between her breasts. She pursed her lips, suppressing the rising tide of emotion that ram right into her the moment she spotted the tiny discolored portion of skin.

It was like a flash.

She was there again, standing before the podium, in her dress blues, throat thick with grief as she delivered the eulogy for her fallen captain and mentor. The sun was bright above, and she squinted as she looked out over the gathering of mourners, her heart seizing in her chest as she saw Montgomery's family, his wife and children. He had betrayed her, hiding the truth from her for some many years, but in the end, he was still a good man, and Beckett didn't want his memory tarnished. Despite all that he did, he didn't deserve that.

She paused for moment, her gaze pulled towards the solemn man standing by her side.

Castle.

He stood there, solid and firm, supportive. She pursed her lips and swallowed, acknowledging—if only to herself—what the author truly meant to her. He was far more than an annoying shadow, far more than just her partner in crime solving. So much more. She had to admit that. Montgomery had told her that if she were lucky, she'd find someone to stand with her. And she had. She'd been denying it for so long. But here, now, for the last handful of years, she had found that someone. And he was here.

Castle.

But then the air was being knocked out of her lungs and a searing pain ripped through her chest. The world spun around and all she could see was the deep blue of the sky above.

And then there was Castle. Above and around, surrounding her. Tears welled up in his eyes as he pleaded with her, begged her to stay with him. She struggled to respond, but her voice was robbed by the explosion of agonizing pain in her chest. Her eyelids fluttered and she fought to retain consciousness, to stay with him.

His throat bobbed and her gaze followed the movement. It was so small, so tiny, but just enough for her to focus on. But then he was speaking again, words spilling with desperation from his lips.

"Stay with me, Kate," he pleaded. "I love you. I love you, Kate."

And then her world went black.

Beckett snapped her eyes open, ripped out of her memories like a flash. Her chest heaved and her heart beat profoundly beneath her breast. Her eyes flicked up to meet her reflected gaze in the mirror. She saw every emotion she'd felt that day staring right back at her. Sucking in a ragged breath, Beckett turned away, putting her back to it. Closing her eyes, she silently counted backwards from ten, taking deep, calming breaths.

"I'm fine," she whispered out, a little too timid for her liking. "I'm fine," she repeated, firmer. "I'm fine."

 _Oh, Castle_ , she thought, eyes still clenched tightly shut. _I miss you so much_.


	6. Chapter 5

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 5**_

* * *

Beckett emerged from her quarters, feeling more refreshed after a quick shower. She had changed into a smoky gray wool cardigan, and had pulled on a pair of thick olive green trousers. She'd kept her hair bunched up in a messy bun and covered it with a light blue crocheted toque. Even though the facility was regulated to much more tolerable temperatures for its human occupants, it was still a little cold.

She walked briskly down the corridor, took a left and went for the stairs, heading up to the second level, nodding to a few people she recognized as she went. Flicking her hand up, she checked the time on her wristwatch. Just like her mother's ring that she wore on a chain around her neck, Beckett still wore her father's wristwatch as a reminder: The ring was for the life she'd lost, and the watch was for the life she had saved. Mother and father, still with her, even down here at the bottom of the world.

Judging by what she saw on the clock face, the body should have thawed enough for Marston to begin an autopsy. She picked up her pace, stalking towards the game room, where she was unpleasantly surprised to find that the Winter-Over Evac Party that had been sprung earlier was still going. The Beach Boys were blasting from a boom box in the corner, and people were alternating between dancing, chatting, drinking, or munching on the provided snacks.

Since most projects were put on hold during winter-over, many of the lab technicians and research staff members stationed here didn't have much to do until their flight out, so it really shouldn't have surprised her that there would be those that lingered to enjoy the festivities.

She had been too busy to attend earlier. Though, even if she hadn't been too busy, in all honesty, she probably still wouldn't have attended the party. Beckett didn't really like socializing, and not many people here seemed keen on socializing with her. Seeing as it was her job to enforce the law, she wasn't surprised by that attitude. Besides, she hadn't come down here to make friends. She had Dr. Marston. That was all the friendship she required.

But before she could make a stealthy exit, Beckett overheard a conversation coming from a handful of drunk researchers by the punch bowl.

"Check out the hot piece of ass that just walked in!" a man with sandy hair exclaimed with a drunk slur. "Hey? Think I have a shot with her?"

"As if," his buddy said, guffawing loudly. "That's Marshal Beckett."

"Marshal Beckett?" questioned the first, his intoxication making him confused.

"Yeah, the ice queen," hissed the other, taking a swig of his beer. "She's been down here so long she's gone cold."

"Frigid," another one put it.

"Frozen," The one with the beer bottle added, then elbowed his compatriot. "Still, she could do with a good thawing, if you get my meaning." He winked and exaggeratedly waggled his eyebrows.

"Is that so?" Beckett demanded, having maneuvered her way over to the group.

The man with the beer bottle started to stammer, his eyes wide with fright. For a moment, Beckett worried he might piss himself. She raised an eyebrow, employing her best interrogation glare that had even the toughest New York street thugs begging for their mothers.

"Don't you all have a flight to pack for?" she questioned.

The leader of the group babbled for a moment, before inclining his head and making a hasty retreat, leaving the others to rush after him—all but the one she'd first overheard. He looked at her blankly, brow furrowed in a perplexed look.

"Yes?" she prompted.

He shook his head. "You're still hot," he replied drunkenly and then waddled off.

Beckett watched him go with mild amusement. She turned to the snack table, snatched up a handful of nuts and popped them into her mouth. Narrowing her eyes, she spotted a pair of lab assistants brazenly making out in the corner to the point where things were about to become indecent. She cleared her throat, easily gaining their attention. Fraternization wasn't strictly prohibited, but people were encouraged to use discretion.

"Unless you want to put on a show, I suggest you two get a room," she instructed.

Both had the decency to look sheepish as they bobbed their heads. The woman grabbed the man's hand and the pair subtly and strategically exited the game room, heading in the direction of the staff berths. Beckett pursed her lips as she watched them go, unable to keep her mind from thinking of Richard Castle, and how, if given the opportunity, she wouldn't have minded slinking unnoticed out of a party with him to have some private alone time. Shaking her head of such thoughts, Beckett spun around and meander through the partygoers, and slipped out of the room before she could get lost in the what if scenarios and pondering if only.

Entering the main corridor, she turned to the left, sidestepping around a technician pushing a trolley filled with lab equipment marked for departure, and hurried across the tubed umbilical connection between the modules, going from Building B into Building A.

She strolled past the computer lab, glancing over to watch as crewmembers were beginning the shutdown process, placing protective coverings over the machines that wouldn't be in use. Since the station would be housing a minimal complement of staff during winter-over, they really didn't need the whole computer lab up and running. It was a drain on power when there weren't any scientists or researchers there to need or use it.

Jerking her head back up, she narrowed her eyes as she spotted Kieran Russell coming out of the medical bay, Dr. Marston following. They were discussing something. Russell looked slightly agitated. The doctor patted his shoulder and said something that seemed to calm the cocky pilot down. Russell inclined his head, glancing up briefly to spot her. She could have sworn he smirked, but couldn't rightly tell at this distance. It mattered little, though, because not long after he saw her arrival, he departed in the opposite direction.

"Russell giving you trouble?" Beckett asked as she approached.

Marston nearly jumped in start at her appearance. Briefly she caught a perturb look flash through his eyes before he blinked it away. He shook his head. His mind must have been elsewhere.

"Wanted some stims," he said at length. "Just like all the pilots."

Beckett folded her arms across her chest as she squinted down the hallway at Russell's receding form, watching as he disappeared through the double doors leading into the vertical tower. "I could always lock him up in holding if you wanted," she offered. "I wouldn't even mind the extra paperwork."

Marston chuckled. "I don't doubt that," he grinned. "But no, that's okay. I can handle him just fine." He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. His eyes flirted back up to meet hers. "No guessing as to why you're here."

"Am I that obvious?" she asked, matching his smile.

He nodded, shaking his head in a bemused fashion. "Come on in, kid," he said, gesturing for her to follow. "I was just about to start cutting."

XXX

Beckett always felt like she was wearing an oversized poncho whenever she pulled the protective scrub suit over her head. She used to do it all the time when she visited Dr. Lanie Parish in the OCME in New York, but had ceased wearing the garments not long after Richard Castle had started shadowing her for research. Lanie didn't seem to mind all too much.

However, unlike her friend back home, Marston was a stickler for procedure. Something she admired about him. He had a strong work ethic. Beckett liked to think she did as well. It was something they had in common. So, on the few times—as it wasn't really that often—that the doctor performed an autopsy with her present, Beckett would put on the appropriate outfit.

Donning the teal blue scrubs had her thinking back on Lanie. She wondered how she was doing, if her and Esposito were still an item or not. She missed her friend. The medical examiner had spent many an hour pestering her to jump Castle's bones, wanting her to kick back and have some fun, and recognizing that the author would be excellent at providing her with that. Now, with hindsight, Beckett wished she'd followed Lanie's advice when it came to Castle. She'd wasted so much time denying her attraction and growing feelings for the man. Mike Royce's final letter came to mind. Unfortunately, it appeared she would have to spend her life wondering _if only_.

"Let's start with the jacket, shall we?" Marston said, snapping her back to the present situation.

With a nod, Beckett finished securing the ties around her shoulders and watched as the doctor reached over, hands covered in the blue latex gloves. He carefully tugged at the zipper on the victim's red parka that marked him as an American. Slowly, little by little, it started to move, and then finally, with a loud _zip_ , it gave way. Marston pursed his lips, face grim, as he parted the jacket open. He worked one half over the corpse's right shoulder, instructing Beckett to do the same on the other side. Each move they made was calculated and delicate, neither wanting to cause any harm and damage potential evidence.

Once the jacket was fully removed, they finally got a good look at the man's chest.

"Damn," Marston whistled.

The thick undershirt was soaked in blood. The dark crimson surrounded a deep puncture wound that penetrated through the man's shirt. The shirt was plastered, like a second skin, to the well-defined chest. The wound, which appeared oddly similar to a bullet hole, was dead center. Beckett felt her chest clench involuntarily, gaze riveted on the horrid sight. She was unable to tear her eyes away from it. Her scar throbbed and her breath caught as memories of her shooting assailed her.

From across the autopsy table, Marston watched her with a cautious and concerned gaze. "You okay there, kid?" he asked, his face soft with understanding.

Beckett shook it off. "I'll be all right," she assured him, furrowing her brow as she fought to rein in the rising tide of panic. She hated that it still affected her so. Her shooting, and the brutal recovery, should be behind her, but they both lingered, like a bad cough, unwilling to let go.

Marston nodded, and thankfully said no more on the matter. He trusted her, and for that she was grateful. "Well damn, definitely homicide," he said, glancing back down at the glaringly obvious wound located in the center of the victim's chest. "You know, this means a Federal Investigation, and we're witnesses. We may get stuck here."

"I know," Beckett asserted, flirting her eyes up to meet his. "It's part of the job description."

"It's not too late," Marston said. "We could just zip the jacket back up and put him in storage."

Beckett opened her mouth to object.

"We both want to do the right thing, Kate," Marston went on, forestalling her protestations, echoing his previous reservations. "But we also need to get off the ice. Right now, we don't have to say a word. When they find something later—hey, we didn't know. We were leaving, the body was frozen, we didn't have time to examine it."

"But we do, and we have," Beckett interjected, shaking her head. "We sent Van Decker those fingerprints; he knows we've had time to examine the body. I'm sorry, Doc. We're all this guy has." She sighed. "I know how much you want to see your granddaughter, but I can't ignore this. Can you?"

Marston stood there for a moment, face unreadable. Finally, he shook his head, matching her own movements. "No, I can't," he concurred, grim. "I'm with you, Kate. Always."

The use of that word startled Beckett, completely catching her off guard. Hearing it again, in a somewhat similar context, was almost like getting shot in the chest all over again. She had to suck in a quick breath to hold back the tightness in her chest and the emotions that came with it. Still, her eyes watered at the sentiment. Swallowing thickly, Beckett met Marston's gaze.

"Thank you," she forced out, genuinely touched by this man's unwavering support. She didn't know what she would do without Dr. Mark Marston.

After a long beat of silence, the doctor nodded, considering the matter settled. "Okay, hand me that scalpel and we'll see what else we can find out about this poor SOB."

The public address system beeped as Beckett located the scalpel on the tray.

" _Marshal Beckett report to Ops_!" squawked from the intercom mounted on the left side of the medical bay's door. " _Marshal Beckett report to Ops_!"

Marston retrieved the scalpel from her proffered hand and inclined his head. "I'll finish this up and get you the report ASAP. Maybe, if we're lucky, we can wrap this whole thing up before last call."

"Wishful thinking there, Doc," Beckett gritted her teeth, tugging at the straps on her shoulder to divest herself of the scrub suit.

"One can hope," he shrugged. "Where's your optimism?"

 _Back in New York_ , she thought briefly of a certain ruggedly handsome mystery author. Pulling off the rest of the teal blue scrubs, Beckett strolled towards the exit. "I'm a realist," she insisted, pausing at the door to glance back at Marston as he stood over the body, scalpel in hand, preparing to make his first incision. "We'll find the bastard that did this, Doc. I promise you that." And then she pushed through the doors, leaving the good doctor to his grisly work.


	7. Chapter 6

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 6**_

* * *

The operations center was still busy. The station manager's curly red hair had been released from its ponytail and now cascaded over her shoulders in fiery waves of the bright color. Seeing Rhonda Stewart from behind made Kate Beckett thinking of another red-head, one who was much younger.

Alexis Castle.

She paused in the threshold, momentarily wondering how the young woman was doing. If she recollected the years correctly, Alexis should have graduated high school by now. Last she remembered, Castle's daughter had been planning to go to Stanford. Beckett hoped that's what she'd been able to do. She had attended the California university as well, perhaps not as long as she would have liked, but she had fond memories of her time there.

The buzz of activity soon pulled her back to the present. Beckett blinked her eyes and inhaled sharply before moving around the bustling techs to approach Rhonda.

"Ah, Beckett," the station manager's Irish lilt was heavier than usual, which meant the woman was tired. "About time. Where have you been?"

"Doc was performing the autopsy on our John Doe," Beckett answered, perfunctory.

"Right," Rhonda nodded. "Well, Van Decker's on the horn for you. You can take it in your office, Marshal."

"Thanks," Beckett said, and spun on her heels, quickly making her way out of the nerve center of the station, and walked briskly toward her office.

A little blue light was flashing from the bulky telephone on her desk. Beckett grabbed the receiver and yanked it out of its cradle, issuing her standard greeting.

"Beckett."

" _About time_ ," hissed Spencer Van Decker, her superior stationed in the comfortable warmth of the U.S. Embassy in Canberra, Australia. " _I've been on hold for twenty minutes_."

Beckett glowered at the wall. The asshole knew next to nothing about the Ice. But the Ice and her were kindred spirits now. She didn't care. "And I've been waiting longer for an I.D. on our victim," she snapped back.

" _Christ, don't get your panties in a twist_ ," grunted Van Decker. " _Things take time_." He paused, and she could hear the clicking of keys. " _I put a rush on those prints Marston sent. We got a hit._ "

And then he stopped. Beckett narrowed her eyes, straining to hear anything over the slight static that always accompanied calls from the mainland.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," she prompted, annoyed.

" _Yeah, yeah_ ," grumbled Van Decker. The man was a lazy son-of-a-bitch. But at least he was somewhat competent in his role as a desk jockey, even if he was a douche. " _Your John Doe is Geoff Cassaday, American, surveyor_." He paused. " _Definitely murder?_ "

"Yes," Beckett confirmed. "Looks like a GSW to the chest."

" _GS—what?_ " came Van Decker's confused response.

 _Ignorant prick_ , she thought. Gritting her teeth, she repeated herself, spelling it out for him. "Gunshot wound to the chest."

" _Shit, no_ ," he choked. " _You shitting me, Beckett? You better be shitting me. How the hell did he get shot? Guns aren't allowed down there, except for approved personnel, like… you_."

"Not like I've had time to investigate, asshole," she had reached her limit with his bullshit, and was also irked by his inept implication. "I didn't even have an I.D. until thirty seconds ago."

" _Look, Miss Tight Pants, we don't have the same resources you had in New York_ ," Van Decker grumbled. " _So, just get used to it_." He paused, huffing with indignation. She always thought he was resentful of her field experience, which was far more considerable than his. Thankfully, as a woman, she didn't have to participate in any measuring contests. " _Check your email, I'm sending you all data we have on Cassaday. Looks like he was part of a team. Might want to check them out_."

"No shit, Sherlock," Beckett replied, rolling her eyes as she turned around to boot up her computer. "I know what I'm doing. How many murder investigations have you ran?"

Silence met her on the other end.

"That's what I thought," she went on. "Look, I said it looked like a GSW to the chest, but Doc's still performing the autopsy. I'll know more when he's done. Until then, I'll start working on the research team, see what they've been up to, what camps they've been, where—"

" _Okay, okay_ ," he interjected, cutting her off with a huff. " _I get it_."

"You do your job, and I'll do mine," Beckett added, sharply.

She could hear him growling a few choice words under his breath.

" _All the bases are going to winter staff in the next two weeks_ ," Van Decker said at length, going all business, and really working the superior officer tone. " _Ninety percent of all personnel on the Ice are shipping back home. You've got until then, Deputy_ —"

Beckett opened her mouth to respond, annoyed at his emphasis on the word _deputy_. _Yep_ , she thought. He was definitely playing up the superior officer card now. However, he plowed right on before she could offer a retort.

"— _Or else I'll have your badge_!" he declared. " _Murder. It's never happened, Beckett. Never. Not down there. Hell, the FBI wants in. I'm holding them off for now. But the director was getting pressure from the oversight committee, so we had to agree to an outside observer._ "

"You've got to be kidding me."

The bastard chuckled on the other end. She ground her teeth, knowing he was enjoying this. " _Afraid not_ ," he said.

"Well that's just great," Beckett grumbled, growing even more annoyed.

" _He left not long after your initial report arrived, should be there soon_ ," Van Decker said after a pause to double check. " _Yep. ETA has him arriving tomorrow morning. So, you'll have to deal with him then. Scuttlebutt is he's an expert on criminal behavior. Apparently, he consulted with the FBI recently on some big case. Took down a senator on conspiracy and murder. Big stuff back home_."

"That's just what I need, some jackass who thinks he's hot stuff," Beckett growled. "You could have done more to keep him off."

" _Orders came from up top, Deputy_ ," Van Decker went on, unable to conceal his own irritation at the forced cooperation. " _We don't want the FBI asserting authority in our jurisdiction_. _So, you solve this damn thing. And you solve it fast. Find the team. Find the camp. Make an arrest_." He paused for dramatic effect. " _Understood_?"

"Yes, sir," Beckett ground out and then slammed the phone down, terminating the call.

XXX

Geoff Cassaday.

Thirty-two.

American.

Surveyor.

Beckett stared at his photo, trying to reconcile the lopsided grin with the smashed in face in autopsy. He didn't deserve such a grisly end. No one did. She skimmed through the information in the email Van Decker had sent. Cassaday's bio listed a family. Her heart ached for them. Her compassion for those left behind was one of her defining traits as a detective. She could sympathize with them better than most, because she knew their pain, had lived it herself. Still did, if she was honest. Always would. Time was not the great healer people liked to think it was.

Picking up her phone, she buzzed communications and asked for Station Manager Steward. Twenty seconds later, Rhonda stepped into her office with a smirk. Beckett returned the phone to its cradle.

"You know I'm just outside your office, right?" the woman jested, her Irish lilt alight with humor, folding her arms over her chest. "I intimidate you, don't I? Just admit it, Beckett."

She rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. "You don't scare me, Rhonda," she quipped back. "Not one bit."

"Yeah, yeah," Rhonda waved off her retort, and then held up a finger as she narrowed her eyes. Adjusting the receiver on her headset, the station manager barked out a series of crisp orders, and when finished tugged the device down to rest along her neck and shoulders. "All right, Beckett, what's so important you couldn't make the short walk to Ops?"

"Geoff Cassaday," she said, standing up and swiveling the computer monitor around so her guest could see the photo on the screen.

"Who?"

"That's our victim," Beckett elaborated, jabbing at the photo with her finger for emphasis. "He's a surveyor. Had a family back home."

"We all do," Rhonda interjected, then hesitated, glancing at her knowingly. "Well, at least some of us do."

Beckett waved her hand, dismissing it. "That's not the point," she let it slide. "He worked with a team: Beckcom, Bettis, Fegetter, Herrera, and Tallis."

"So…?"

" _So_ … we have a pool of suspects now," Beckett finished, thinking it was obvious. It was times like this that she missed her boys, Detectives Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan. And Rick Castle. Always Castle. She'd never been able to bounce theory around with someone better than she had with him. She missed that. Missed him.

"What camp was he with?" Rhonda frowned.

"That's what I wanted to ask you."

Rhonda nodded, finally understanding why Beckett didn't want to have this conversation in public. But before she could reply, a tiny shrill voice emitted from the headphones around her neck. Rhonda winced. "Hold on a sec," she said, pulling the headset back into place. "What?" she snapped into the mic. "Fine. On my way." She glanced back at Beckett. "Sorry, I've got to deal with this."

"Rhonda," Beckett called as she opened the door, staring at the woman with pleading eyes. "I know your busy, but this is important too. We've got a killer out there."

"I know," she replied, brow wrinkling in a mixture of frustration and concern. This was uncharted territory for them all. "Check with Simms, he manages the sub-stations. He should know what camp Cassaday was at."

Beckett nodded. "Oh, and Rhonda?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know anything about a FBI consultant flying in?" she asked, fishing, and curious how much the station manager knew.

"Why?"

"Just curious," Beckett tried to pass off her shrug as nonchalant, but wasn't sure she'd succeeded.

Rhonda smirked, eyes narrowing in amusement. She tapped her hand against the doorjamb. "I'll let you know when he arrives."

"Thanks."


	8. Chapter 7

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 7**_

* * *

With her hair now tied back in a loose ponytail, Beckett emerged from her office and turned right, heading down the small corridor towards the sub-station manager's office. She narrowed her eyes, brows knitting together as she approached the closed door. Muffled grunts and groans could be heard, the sounds of great sex. Beckett gritted her teeth; beyond annoyed. She didn't begrudge others stationed down on the Ice their… _socializing_ … but she would rather not be reminded of it, seeing as it had been a while since she'd had sex.

Beckett knocked on the door.

There was no response.

She knocked again, more forcible.

And again, no response, except for the continued moans coming from within the room.

"Great, just great," she muttered under her breath, reaching for the handle, and then hesitated.

Beckett really was not in the mood to walk in on two people engaged in what sounded like a vigorous and boisterous round of sex. However, seeing as she was pressed for time, since she had less than 24 hours until the stupid FBI consultant arrived and tried to take over her investigation, Beckett just had to suck it up.

Curling her fingers around the door handle, Beckett geared herself up to see two semi-clothed—or completely nude—crewmembers going at it, but that wasn't what she saw when she swung the door open. Instead, she found herself staring at a locker room porno playing on the flat screen television mounted behind the sub-station manager's desk. On the screen a heavily muscled and well-endowed quarterback with no pants was giving it to a busty cheerleader with no top. Five guys stood in the small office, hovering around the flat screen, oblivious to her arrival.

Beckett wrinkled her nose in disgust at the scene, but, despite that, she felt an odd stirring in her belly as an image of Richard Castle popped into her head. She stared at the screen, absently watching the action playout, feeling her insides clench with wanton need. The half-naked quarterback's face morphed into another, a roguish twinkle in his blue eyes and a charming smirk on his ruggedly handsome face.

Shaking her head, Beckett cleared the image from her mind, quickly cataloguing it away for later, when she needed to release some stress and was alone. Always alone. Yet always with him… with Rick Castle in her mind.

She took a moment to compose herself and then cleared her throat, garnering the startled attention of all five spectators. "You do know that TV is for official station purposes, right?"

"Is that so, Marshal Beckett?" came a thick English accent.

"Yes, station regulations," she met his eyes, folding her arms across her chest. She glanced around at the others. "I hate to interrupt the educational programing, boys, but I need to speak with Simms. Alone."

The other men hurry out, pleased with an excuse to leave. One of them nodded to her on the way out.

"Marshal."

Beckett inclined her head in return. "Chaplain."

She arched her eyebrow, waiting for Simms to shut off the porno. He complied, and then stood up, stretching his back. Oliver Simms was in his late-thirties, on the pudgy side with an average face, most of which was hidden behind a thick brown beard. He took three steps over to the wall, where an eight by ten framed photo hung, turned backwards.

"Am I in some kind of trouble, Marshal?" he asked, flipping the frame back around, revealing Queen Elizabeth II.

"That depends," Beckett said, shifting her stance, taking a bit off the intimidation, but not too much. "I'm looking for information on a research crew."

"Well, you've come to the right place," Simms said, grinning back at her. "Who are we looking for?"

"Beckcom, Bettis, Cassaday, Fegetter, Herrera, and Tallis," Beckett rattled off their names in alphabetical order. "Two Americans, two from the U.K., a Brit and a Scot, and the last two from Austria and Argentina, respectively. You know them?"

"Dr. Enric Tallis was team leader, if I'm not mistaken," he nodded, narrowing his eyes as he mumbled to himself. He moved to the other side of the small room where a large file cabinet stood before a wall sized map of Antarctica covered in colored thumbtacks designating the numerous sub-stations and outposts scattered throughout the Ice. Simms pulled out a drawer and flicked through the folder. "Ah, here!"

He returned, plopping down in the chair behind his desk, and casually tossed the folder down on the desktop. Beckett tilted her head as she stepped forward, squinting as she read the label: _DELTA ONE ONE_. Simms leaned forward, slapping a hand over it. He looked up at her with a conspiratorial waggle to his eyebrows.

"Seeing as I'm being so cooperative," he said in a singsong voice. "How about you forget you saw what was on the TV?"

Beckett snorted. "Look, Simms, I don't care what you do in your free time, just as long as you do it out of sight."

"Cheers, then," he beamed, pleased, releasing the file.

She spun the folder around and opened it. Three photos were stapled inside. One was of Geoff Cassaday. The other two had the names written under them. Nicholas Herrera and Annalise Bettis. Bettis was a pretty woman with straight brunette hair and a bright smile. Dr. Herrera was a skinny, thin faced young man with a beard that hadn't filled in yet. Between them, looking like a third wheel was Dr. Scanlon Fegetter, the Scotsman in him showing with a scraggly red beard. The last photo showed an older man with dark hair and dark eyes—Dr. Enric Tallis—standing next to a woman with short wavy hair and a serious face—Casey Beckcom.

Faces. She now had faces to place with the names. Her brow furrowed as she glanced over the photos.

"What were they doing out there?"

Simms took one of the loose papers from the folder and spun it around to read. "Collecting meteorites," he said. " _One One_ has an extremely old surface with low sediment deposition."

Beckett flicked her eyes up to him and pursed her lips, knowing he was trying to make himself seem smart. "Yeah, I get it, good place to look for meteorites," she translated.

Simms shrugged, replacing the paper back in the folder.

"Where's the camp?" she asked, brow wrinkling as she shuffled through the papers in the folder.

With a grunt, Simms pushed up from his chair and walked over to the map hanging on the wall. He made a show of looking it over before pointing at a blue thumbtack. "It's right here."

Beckett followed him, crossing her arms as she narrowed her eyes and glared at the map where the camp _Delta One One_ was marked with an American Flag. She frowned, shaking her head.

"I don't get it," she spoke out loud, verbalizing her confusion. "Cassaday was nowhere near _Delta One One_."

"Whoa! Are we talking about the popsicle Doc brought in?"

Beckett graced him with one of her infamous glares. He swallowed, shutting up as he cowered back. "When are they scheduled for evac?" she questioned, returning to the desk to look over the other files in the folder.

She stared at the photo of Cassaday again as Simms snagged a blue binder labeled _Radio Log Sheet_ from a small shelf behind his desk. He flipped through it, scrunching up his face. Sensing his unease, Beckett glanced up from the files, and squinted.

"What is it?" she demanded.

Simms shook his head, glancing up at her with a confused grimace. "They haven't arranged a pickup yet."

"What!?" she snapped, frowning and snatching the binder from him to have a look for herself. "I don't get it. Isn't that a little unusual this close to winter-over?"

"Yes, it is," Simms nodded. "Really unusual, actually." He craned his neck, staring to the long-range radio console tucked up against the opposite wall, the only other electronic equipment in the room besides the flat screen TV. "I guess I should've contacted them, but—"

"—You've been a little busy," Beckett finished with an eye roll. "Yeah, I noticed." Before he could protest, she moved around him to take up the spot in front of the radio console. She looked over all the dials and knobs. "What's their frequency?"

Throwing his hands up in surrender, Simms moved back over to the large map, and located the thumbtack again. "Seventeen-Eight-Ten."

Beckett spun the dial to the numbers, and indented the button on the microphone handle, drawing it up to her mouth. " _Delta One One_ , this is United States Marshal Kate Beckett, come back, over."

Static crackles through the speakers. Narrowing her eyes, Beckett repeated the call.

" _Delta One One_ , I repeat, this is United States Marshal Kate Beckett, come in, over."

Her eyes flicked up to the small speaker box, expectant. But nothing came. The dull constant static just continued, never wavering. After several more attempts with no response, Beckett put the microphone back down, narrowing her lips in contemplation. Suddenly, the desk phone started to ring, breaking through the white noise from the radio console's speakers.

"Pardon," Simms said, ducking back to answer.

Beckett pursed her lips and turned back to the radio, repeating her call out to the camp one more time, hoping for a response. Simms patted her shoulder, and held up the phone.

"It's for you."

She took it from him. "Beckett," she greeted in her customary fashion.

" _Marshal, it's Pete_ ," came the familiar Texas drawl of the communications officer from McMurdo. " _I've got some guy holding from Vostok who won't give his name, says he has to talk to you_."

Her eyebrows knitted together, baffled. "Did you say Vostok?" she questioned. She didn't get it. That was one of the Russian bases. Why would someone from there want to speak with her? If they had some issue that needed law enforcement, then they should be contacting her Russian counterpart, Dimitri Petrenko.

" _I sure did_ ," Pete confirmed. " _You wanna take it?_ "

Beckett tilted her head, and arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "Sure, patch it through."

" _Alright, alright, alright_ ," Pete responded with a pretty decent imitation of Matthew McConaughey.

There was a brief static discharge, followed by an electronic beep that informed her Pete at done as she'd requested.

"This is Marshal Kate Beckett, who is this?"

" _Enric Tallis_ ," came a voice with a slight Austrian accent.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She had not been expecting that.

"Dr. Tallis?" she questioned, not entirely trusting her hearing and needing confirmation.

" _You know who I am?_ "

Beckett's eyes shifted back to the picture of him from the opened folder on the desk. Dark hair and dark eyes, somber face. "What happened out there, Dr. Tallis?" she requested, already in interrogation mode.

There was a long pause before he answered. " _You come to Vostok and we'll talk. Only you_."

"Where's Bettis?" Beckett asked. "Herrera? Fegetter, and Beckcom?"

There was another pause.

" _Just… come to Vostok_."

And then there was a soft click.

"Tallis!" Beckett shouted. "Tallis!"

" _Sorry, Marshal_ ," Pete answered. " _Communication was terminated from the source_."

"All right, thanks, Pete," Beckett hung the phone up. Simms looked apprehensive, nervously rubbing his hands together. She ignored him, shuffling the photos and files back into the folder before picking it up. "I'm taking this." He didn't argue, just bobbed his head meekly and watched her storm out.


	9. Chapter 8

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 8**_

* * *

Beckett marched with purpose, at a quick clip through the station, folder tucked against her chest. After everything she'd just learned, and the unexpected call from Vostok station, she needed to regroup. She also needed to check in with Dr. Marston and see if he'd finished his autopsy on Geoff Cassaday. She deftly maneuvered around the short hallways until she reached the central corridor of Building B. She dodged around a couple of crew members moving equipment and practically dashed through the tubular causeway connecting the two modules.

The lights flickered as she crossed over to Building A, and she paused, briefly, catching her breath. It was just the generators switching over, she reminded herself. It happened every twelve hours. Shaking her head, Beckett continued down the corridor, heading for the medical bay.

She found Dr. Marston inside, looking through some boxes, a bottle of Scotch in his hand. She stopped, frowning as she glanced over to the empty slab.

"Where's Cassaday?" she asked.

"And hello to you, Kate," Marston smirked. "Finished autopsy and had my boys move him back into storage."

"Oh, okay," she nodded, stepping through the doorway to join him by his work station as he hunted around for a clean glass. "Conclusions?"

Marston arched his neck to look over at her. "He was stabbed," he asserted, tapping his chest. "It only looked like a GSW because of exposure and the freeze."

She sighed with relief, silently grateful for the development. Though they still had a murder to deal with, it was nice knowing that their culprit didn't have a gun. "What did our guy use?" she asked.

"Something with a sharp and slim blade," Marston said with a thoughtful look. "Like an ice pick."

"And the face?"

"Post-mortem," he said with a jerk of his chin. "Most likely with an ice axe, would be my guess."

Beckett nodded, narrowing her eyes as she stored the information in her mind. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. Marston let out a cheer as he found a glass. He put it down on the flat surface of his workspace and unscrewed the cap from the bottle of Scotch, pouring out a generous helping. Beckett rested her hip against the desk and arched an eyebrow as she stared at him.

"Getting drunk already?" she asked, a touch concerned.

"Just gearing my liver up in case I have to stay the next six months," Marston answered with a wiry smile.

"You heard about the Feds," she said, inclining her head, glowering.

"Yep," he nodded, plopping down in his chair. "We've got ourselves an FBI observer coming. Like you need the help. Ha."

Beckett shrugged, reconsidering her position on that. "I don't like the idea of this consultant flying down either, but I have to admit we might actually need the help," she conceded with a sigh, handing him the folder.

"What's this?"

"Our victim, and the team he was working with," she said. "Also known as 'our suspects'."

"Nice," he raised his glass in toast. "See, you'll have this solved in no time."

Beckett offered him a soft smile, patting his arm in reassurance. "I'll do everything I can to get you off the Ice, Doc. Promise."

He looked at her somberly, and inclined his head. "I know you will." Marston took a long gulp from his glass before he set it down and opened up the folder, scanning the photos and files within. "Herrera and Bettis are a thing," he said. "I remember them. They came in a couple of weeks ago, looking for… contraceptives." He waggled his eyebrows in a manner that reminded Beckett of someone else. "They were playing it cool, trying to keep it on the down low. I think it might have been one of those what happens on the ice, stays on the ice, kind of things."

"Why you say that?" Beckett asked, curious.

"Bettis is married," he tapped the photo with the couple, indicating the ring on Annalise Bettis's finger. "Maybe Cassaday found out, threatened blackmail?"

"Perhaps," Beckett bobbed her head.

"I assume you're going to question them," Marston took another sip from his glass.

"Yes," she confirmed. "Headed to Vostok."

Marston arched an eyebrow in surprise.

"Dr. Tallis called," she explained. "Wants to talk."

The doctor shook his head. "All right then, but," he paused, knitting his eyebrows together. "But what's he doing in Russia?"

XXX

Vostok was not in Russia. Not really. But it was in the Russian controlled territory on the Ice, which, technically meant it was in Russia. Beckett was going to need to get permission from Officer Petrenko to visit, even if she had been invited. After changing into appropriate winter wear—A.K.A. multiple layers—in her quarters, Kate Beckett now stood in her office, on the phone, speaking with her Russian counterpart.

" _You sure you don't need assistance?_ " Petrenko asked in English, his voice thick with his accent. " _Always a pleasure to work with you, Marshal Beckett_."

"Thanks, but I'll be fine, Dimitri," she replied with a barely suppressed eye roll. She should never have revealed to him that she spoke fluent Russian. "Just paying you the professional courtesy of informing you."

" _Yes, yes, so you say_ ," he laughed. " _But I am, how do you say? Bored. Not much for me to do. I can meet you. After, we could_ …" and then he said something very suggestive in Russian.

"Иди нахрен," Beckett snapped back, glowering in annoyance. She then slammed the phone back down into its cradle, effectively hanging up. She shuddered. Really. The nerve of the guy. The only man she would do that with wasn't even on the same continent as her.

Taking a deep calming breath, Beckett brought herself back down from her ire, and willed herself to let it go. She needed to focus on the case, like she would back in New York. If Richard Castle were here, he'd offer some witty quip that would pull a reluctant smile, or even a chuckle, from her and brighten her mood. She sighed. Oh, how she missed him. Rolling her shoulders to ease the tension away from her conversation with Officer Petrenko, Beckett gathered her things. Perhaps Marston was right. Maybe it was time for her to get off the ice and return home, seek Castle out and tell him the truth, about how she felt… all of it.

But first, she had a murder to solve.

Stepping over to the gun safe, Beckett removed her service weapon and slipped it into her hip holster, next to her badge. She pushed through her door, and locked it up behind her. Shoving her hands in the pockets, Beckett marched down the short corridor to the operations center.

Rhonda was bent over a computer terminal, a phone to one ear, and another in her hand. Judging by the lines across her freckled face, the Irish woman was stressed. Winter-over evacuation would do that. Beckett strolled in, adjusting her parka as she looked over the woman's shoulder. The computer had a window open to some display of satellite weather imagery—like Doppler. Beckett was no meteorologist, but she'd seen enough weather reports on the local news back in New York to recognize a vast storm system heading there way. Amundsen-Scott Base was marked in a neon red, other stations were marked as well.

"Yes, we're tracking it now," Rhonda said into the phone.

"Hey, Rhonda," Beckett tapped her shoulder to gain the other woman's attention.

The redhead jerked her head up, irritated, scowling when she noticed who it was. "He's not here yet," she answered.

"Not that," Beckett shook her head. "I need a plane to Vostok Station."

Rhonda huffed, and then squinted. She held up her hand, and tilted her head back, listening to whomever was on the other end of the line.

"I don't control the weather," she growled, her Irish brogue rough and irritable, fiery. "You want to stay the winter, then don't be ready for you evac!" She slammed the phone down in its cradle and then looked back up at Beckett. "No, no. Sorry, can't. All planes are committed."

Beckett adjust her stance, firming up her determination. "I'm not asking."

Rhonda jabbed a finger at the computer monitor showing the approaching storm. "What am I supposed to tell the deep drill ice core team getting picked up in four and a half?"

"Tell them I took their plane," Beckett replied with a shrug. And left before the station manager could object.


	10. Chapter 9

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 9**_

* * *

Vostok Station, controlled and operated by the Russian Federation, had a population of about forty-six, give or take. It varied season by season. The station was set up in a small grid pattern, with squat ugly building from the Soviet era, some collapsing, other with boarded up windows. The wind was stronger out here, away from ASB, causing the flags to flap with a harder snap than they did at the South Pole.

A series of colorful rope lines, connected through various poles, crisscrossed between the buildings. Storm lines. When the weather was strong enough to cut off visibility, the inhabitants would hook themselves into the lines to guide themselves from building to building. It was an old but effective method.

Thankfully the elements weren't that bad right now. Beckett could see just find, though she had to lean hard into the wind to keep herself upright as she disembarked from the Viking Air DHC-6 Twin Otter. Reggie Talbot, wearing full ECW—Extreme Cold Weather—gear, climbed down behind her, pausing to secure the plane's hatch before following her towards the compound.

Beckett reached the hatch first, spun the wheel and opened it. She held it open for Reggie, who was carrying a duffel bag with him. Once he was inside the vestibule, she followed, tugging the hatch closed behind her. The screaming wind ceased the moment she spun the wheel and locked the door. Pulling back her hood of her parka, Beckett knitted her eyebrows together as she glanced around the small room. Black coats and gloves hung from the hooks along one wall, and the safety harnesses on the other. The floor was wet and dirty, trampled with boot prints.

"Come on," she nodded to Reggie, moving towards the inner hatch, and pushed through it.

Beckett led the way down the decrepit, dimly lit hall strung with exposed pipes and wiring. Gaunt, malnourished faces looked up from the room they passed. All stared. Silently. No one tried to stop them.

"Hey, Beckett, what's with this place?" Reggie asked, his Brooklyn inflections a welcome slice of home in this miserable place.

"The Russian government barely supplies Vostok anymore," she answered as they took a left turn at a T-junction. "They have to barter with other bases for supplies. Some of these guys have been rotting here for years."

Reggie adjusted his hold on the duffel bag. "Seems more like death row than a research station."

Beckett nodded, inclined to agree. "This way," she said, gesturing to the right, and through another short hallway.

After pushing through a rotting door, they emerged into a grungy operations room that hadn't seemed to make it out of the 1980s. Ancient computers and steel-cased radios filled one wall. There was still a portrait of Lenin hanging at a tilt next to a faded red Soviet flag. On one side of the room a man in a worn green jacket and matching pants worked at welding equipment. Four more Russians sat at a table playing cards and drinking vodka. They all took their time looking her over, not even bothering to hide the lecherous gleam in their eyes at the sight of a woman, even if she was bundled up in layers of clothing that hid her figure.

"Кто здесь за главного?" she demanded: _Who is in charge here?_ Beckett surprised them by the fluent use of their language, since they had obviously noted her red parka, which indicated her as American.

A big bear of a man with a bushy mustache, probably in his forties, stood up from the table. His arms were huge, and his face scruffy. He stared at her with bloodshot eyes.

"Who's asking?" he asked, speaking in English with a heavy accent.

"Beckett, U.S. Marshal," she greeted with a curt nod of her head.

"Yuri," the man touched his barrel chest. "What can I do for you, Beckett, U.S. Marshal?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm here to talk to an Austrian named Tallis."

"Tallis?" Yuri inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," Beckett nodded. "Dr. Enric Tallis. You know him?"

The big man shrugged his big shoulders. "So many people come through Vostok. Is hard to remember."

"I figured," Beckett muttered with a tightlipped expression, not at all surprised at the lack of cooperation. "Officer Petrenko did call ahead, informing you of my visit, yes?"

"Da," Yuri confirmed. "He did not mention you were beautiful woman, though."

Beckett fought to roll her eyes. She turned to Reggie and took the duffel bag from him. The pilot glanced over at her, confused as she dropped the bag on the card table. Yuri stared at her for a moment, head cocked in contemplation, before he ducked down to unzip it. Pulling it open, the big Russian found it was packed with steaks. The other Russians reacted with large smiles and the mood lightened. Yuri shoved his big hand inside the duffel, shuffling the items around, and his big smile widened. Retrieving his hand, he pulled out an old VHS porno. The sleeve cover showed a spunky blonde cheerleader with outrageous 1980s "big" hair. Beneath the video cassette tape were a stack of more contemporary pornographic magazines, each with a scantily clad woman on the glossy cover.

Yuri let out a low grunt, seemingly impressed with her diplomatic skills. This wasn't her first rodeo. She knew what men trapped down here liked, especially those in conditions such as these. Beckett stood there, hands on hips, waiting for the bear of a man to make his decision, which she was confident he would, judging by his expression.

"Tallis, you say?" he asked, cocking his head to the side, gazing at her in a different light.

"Yes," she replied, folding her arms. "Dr. Enric Tallis. He should be with four others: Annalise Bettis, American; Casey Beckcom, British; Scanlon Fegetter, Scottish; and Daniel Herrera, Argentinian."

Yuri looked confused. "Don't know others," he said, shaking his head. "But Dr. Tallis, Da… Him I know. He offers pay us to fly him off Antarctica on our transport. We give him very good price—because plane leaves a week ago!"

All the Russians in the room erupt in boisterous laughter. Beckett forced a smile, playing along.

"Where is he?" she asked when the noise had died back down.

Yuri considered her for a moment, before shrugging his big shoulders. "Red storm line."

"Thanks," she nodded and turned away, leaving the Russians to enjoy their steaks and new entertainment.

Reggie hustled after her, struggling to keep up with her quick stride. "Red storm line?" he questioned, eyes wide, mouth hanging open in completely bafflement. He glanced back at the Russians pawing through the magazines with glee. "What does that mean?"

Beckett flicked her eyes over to him and smirked. "Remember those crisscrossing lines we saw outside, interconnecting all the buildings?"

Reggie gulped. "Oh _hell_ no."

She laughed, and offered his arm an apologetic squeeze. "Afraid so, Reggie. Come on, let's go. The sooner I speak with Tallis, the sooner we can get the hell out of here."

XXX

"You sure you wanna stay?" Beckett asked, cocking her head to the side as she examined her pilot.

Reggie was glancing out the small port window on the outer hatch in the small vestibule. He shook his head. "I'm fine," he asserted. "I… er… always wanted to learn Russian."

Beckett barked out a laugh. "Just stick near Yuri… and if they offer you vodka, politely decline."

"Decline?" he hooted, nearly screeching. "You see the size of that guy?"

She grinned. "He's a teddy bear," she insisted.

"More like a grizzly," Reggie muttered, turning back to look out the small circular window one last time. "Getting worse," he noted, glancing at the temperature readout by the door, one of the few modern devices in the building. "Minus eighty-one. Wind at a hundred and ten knots."

He started pacing the room as Beckett worked at getting the rope harness around her waist. Her nose twitched as she caught the scent of the rich aroma from the mug of coffee in his hand. He paused near the inner door and took a slow, long sip.

"Do you have to do that in front of me?" she asked, quirking up an annoyed eyebrow. Coffee had always been her weakness.

"Oh, sorry," he put the mug down on the bench, frowning as he watched her struggle with one of the leg straps. "Give you a hand?"

"Please."

He walked around her and tugged on the loose strap, tightening the harness, and worked at the fastenings.

"Whoa, shit, momma! You're packing!" he exclaimed.

"Huh? Oh, the gun, yeah," she bobbed her head as he stepped back and she finished with the remaining fastenings. She reached for a crampon on a nearby hook.

"I thought it was against the law to have a gun down here," he said. "Part of the Antarctic Treaty or some shit like that."

"They make an exception for the Marshals and other law enforcement personnel," Beckett explained, grabbing a face mask and goggles. "I don't usually carry, but since we're dealing with a murderer I figured I might need it."

"Can't argue the logic in that, Marshal," Reggie conceded with a nod. He arched his neck and squinted at the porthole. "Hmmm, looks bad," he let out a low whistle. "Ever been on a rope-line in a whiteout?"

"Nope," Beckett shook her head, tugging the ski mask over her face. "Thoughts?"

"Yeah," he said. "Hold on tight."

Beckett let out a hard laugh. "I've been through worse than this, trust me," she asserted, thinking of the brutal recovery after getting shot in the chest. "This should be a cake walk in comparison." She adjusted the goggles over her face and then pulled her hood up over her head. Reggie retreated through the inner door, offering her a thumps up. She waited until he secured it, and then turned towards the outer hatch. Beckett cranked the submarine-type wheel lock in the center of the door.

WHAM!

The hatch was suddenly yanked from her grasp, slamming open against the building with a loud crash. A gust of window bellowed inside the vestibule, nearly knocking her down onto her ass. She had to use all her strength to keep upright.

The storm was singing in an even dull roar. A solid white wall of wind-driven ice blew past, sweeping into the room. It was midday, yet the light was oddly dim. There was a sudden crackling popping noise, and Beckett jerked, feeling her chest clench and scars sing. That sounded like a gunshot! She hastily glanced around, her heart pumping profoundly only to sigh with relief when she spotted the coffee mug Reggie had left on the bench. The ceramic had broken in half, exposing a cylinder of frozen coffee. The wind swept in like a hurricane and it rolled off the bench, where it then shattered on the floor.

Shaking off the unexpected rise of panic, Beckett fought against the strong wind, leaning hard into it as she stomped across the vestibule to the doorway. Gripping the jamb, she held herself steady as she clipped a three-foot tether from her harness to the red storm line attached to the side of the building.

And then, after one last moment to prepare herself, Beckett stepped out into the storm.


	11. Chapter 10

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 10**_

* * *

The wind was howling like a beast, an unending dull roar swirling around her, buffering her this way and that. Beckett clenched her teeth beneath the black ski mask and tightened her grip on the red rope line, digging her boots into the hard, compacted snow underneath her. She swayed slightly as she adjusted to the external force of the wind, regaining her balance.

Carefully moving her gloved hands forward, Beckett started her hike across the ice. She squinted through the tinted goggles, ducking her head down against the sheer strength of the wind, making herself smaller. She moved, slowly, inch by inch along the line. Visibility was low. Ice and snow got kicked up, blocking her field of view. So, she kept her focus on the red storm line, using it as her guide.

She had never made a trip through a whiteout before. It was worse than she'd imagined. With zero visibility and the cacophony of the tumult around her, Beckett felt assaulted on all sides by the sounds and the sudden whiteness of her surroundings. It was a little disorienting.

After four more steps, Beckett reached the first stake, an intersection in the ice. Two other lines, one yellow, and another green, led off in different directions. Following the instructions she had memorized before she'd even shipped down to Antarctica, Beckett stopped, leaned into the wind, and clipped the secondary tether to the continuation of the red line on the other side of the stake. Once it was secured, Beckett unfastened the original tether, and clipped it back to her harness.

She took two steps, and then was suddenly lifted off her feet by an unexpected gust of wind. Beckett let out a sharp cry, her heart pounding beneath her chest. The tether caught and held her, jerking her back. The momentum her carried forward, smacking her down into the ice.

"Fuck!" she hissed, her the scar along her side pulling viciously, and crawled back to the stake. She gripped the metal with her gloved hands and slowly hoisted herself back up to her feet. Her legs wobbled for a moment, and she was afraid she'd collapse. But she locked her knees, leaned into another gust of wind, and held.

 _Keep moving_.

She slowly regained her stance, and pushed onward. Hand over hand, keeping a firm grip. Beckett stalked further along the red line, hunching her body against the increasingly strong gusts of wind that continued to buffer against her. She maneuvered through two more stakes, taking it slow and careful, not wanting another repeat of that first interchange. With her head down, she walked on for another minute until she bumped into something. It took her a second to realize it was the other building.

Gritting her teeth, Beckett grabbed the wheel-lock. It didn't budge. Grunting, she put more of her weight into it, and eventually it turned, ice that had sealed around the grooves shattering. With one final shove, she got the hatch open. Arching her torso back, she unclipped the tether from the line and passed through the threshold.

The howling of the wind ceased as soon as she shoved the inner hatch shut behind her, spinning the wheel to lock it. Secured, Beckett let out a heavy sigh and slumped against the door, heart racing beneath her breast, scar throbbing along her side. She grimaced as she straightened up, resting one hand against the metal door for support.

Pulling the hood back, Beckett yanked the goggles off and tugged the ski mask off her face. It was below freezing outside, but under all her layers she was sweating bullets. She wiped the back of her hand against her forehead, feeling the beaded moisture.

The crossing had definitely not been a walk in the park. She bit down the self-admonishment that wanted to spring up at her earlier cavalier attitude. Shaking her head, she removed her gloves and shoved them into her pockets. Beckett worked at unbuckling the harness from around her waist. She hung it up on a hook, along with the black ECW jacket. She placed the goggles and face mask into an empty cubby below the hook.

Taking a moment, she lowered her head and allowed her racing heart to calm. She could hear the thumping in her ears. It was intense. Her scars throbbed, and her chest clenched. Closing her eyes, she heaved in several deep gulps of air, centering herself.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she repeated like a mantra.

Unbidden, a ruggedly handsome face with kind, blue eyes materialized in front of her. She gazed up at him, seeing a soothing and loving expression reflected back. He smiled at her, soft and sincere.

"Castle?" she gasped, in awe and confused at his sudden appearance.

His lips curved into a gentle smile.

 _I love you, Kate_.

She blinked and he was gone. It had all been in her mind, an illusion. Beckett released a breath, feeling much more centered and calm than she had before. Who would have guessed that the man who'd annoyed and irritated her for nearly three years, treating her life like his personal jungle gym, would have become her rock, an anchor to keep her steady in choppy seas. And he was even doing that without being on the same continent.

Now that was impressive.

Beckett smirked, almost laughing at the thought. She would have never thought that back when she first meet the man at one of his book launch parties. But he'd changed. She'd changed. They'd changed together.

Sighing, Beckett raked her fingers through hair, before tying it back into a low ponytail. Dr. Marston was right. She needed to go home and tell Castle how she felt. It was the right thing to do.

But first, she had to a job to do.

Unlocking the inner door, Beckett pushed through and entered the building.

Darkness greeted her. She frowned, cocked her head to the side and reached over to hit the lights on. Nothing. She flicked the switch back and forth several more times before surrendering to the obvious. No power. She huffed out an exasperated breath. The dull howl of the storm outside was almost like muffled background noise. Just a sliver of light stabbed its way through the small window.

"Hello?" she called out into the still quiet. "Dr. Tallis? It's Marshal Beckett."

Her repeated calls were met with silence.

The hallway stretched out before her, long and dark, leading away from her in both directions. She craned her neck to look both ways, brow furrowing as she contemplated which path to take. Digging her flashlight out of her inside pocket, Beckett thumbed the button and a beam of sharp light shot out through the dark, illuminating the tiny particles of dust in the air. She scanned the hallway with narrowed eyes.

Something wasn't right. She could feel it in her gut. Castle would have called it her Spidey Sense.

God, how she missed that man.

Unzipping her parka, Beckett flicked her thumb over the latch securing her gun in the holster, on the ready, and stepped forward, deciding to go right. Stalking the hall, alert and vigilant, Beckett tried door after door. One finally gave, and she paused, lifting her weapon just a bit from the holster.

"Dr. Tallis?"

With a steady hand, Beckett cautiously pushed the door open, revealing four stripped bunks in an empty room. Frowning, she let go of her gun and retreated back out. She continued down the hallway until she reached the end, and approached the last door. This one was unlocked as well.

Beckett kept the flashlight up with one hand, while she lowered the other to grip the handle of her Glock, just in case. She shifted her stance, and then used her foot to nudged the door slightly ajar, before shouldering her way through it, sweeping the interior with the flashlight. The bright beam revealed what appeared to be a large lounge. Folding chairs were scattered around a card table, and there was an overturned sofa on the other side of the room.

On alert, she inched forward, scanning the room with trained eyes. Her gut was screaming at her. Something was off. Beckett learned long ago to trust her gut. Castle would have told her the same thing. And that was when she heard it: Breathing, labored and heavy, almost a wheeze. Her ears twitched, and she spun around. Moving with purpose, she approached the overturned sofa, pausing momentarily before stepping around it.

"My God," she gasped.

Sprawled on the ground by the sofa was Dr. Enric Tallis. He was lying in a pool of his own blood, struggling to breathe through a puncture wound on his esophagus. His eyes were wide, terrified. He gasped, and blood shot out of the hole in his throat. His lips moved, as if to speak, but Beckett shook her head, kneeling down beside him.

"No, don't try and talk," she instructed, looking around for something—anything—to use to stop the bleeding. But then Tallis was grabbing her, gargling something, gasping for air. Beckett had just a moment to realize he was warning her before she noticed the reflection of movement behind her in the man's dark eyes.

She moved, on instinct, rolling back over Tallis just as an ice axe swung down at her, just missing her head by an inch. But the shaft nailed her arm holding the flashlight, causing her to lose her grip, sending it clattering to the floor. The killer loomed above her, wearing full ECW gear with a mask and goggles obscuring his features. A frustrated growl, low and male emanated from him, and he took another swing at her.

Beckett lunged to the side. The axe missed her, but sunk into Tallis, piercing his chest, effectively killing him. Blood gurgled out of his mouth as he gasped his last breath, before his head fell backwards, eyes dead. Beckett scrambled across the floor, diving for her flashlight. The killer yanked the ice axe free of Tallis's corpse, cocking his masked head in her direction.

Adrenalin pumped through her veins, fueling her need to fight and survive. She drew her Glock, but she was too slow. The masked villain was already bearing down on her. He swung at her again. She moved, but wasn't quick enough. The flat end of the ice axe hit her hand. Crying out in pain, Beckett lost her grip on the weapon as her fingers spasmed. Her Glock fell to the ground. Before she could retrieve it, the killer kicked it away.

Cursing, Beckett jerked a fist at him, forcing him to dodge the blow. It gave her an opportunity for escape, and she took it. Pushing up to her feet, Beckett bolted around the sofa and headed for the door. With her weapon gone, there was only one way to survive. She pumped her legs and pounded her boots against the floor as she flew out the room, slamming the door behind her, and darted down the hallway at a full tilt run, retracing her steps.

The killer burst through the door a few beats after her, all shadow and rage. He clutched the ice axe with determination and pursued her with the tenacity of a predator hunting down its prey. She took a hard left, skidding along the dirty floor, as she approached the vestibule. She doesn't even want to look back—it was all or nothing now. With desperate hands, she pulled the inner hatch open and leapt through. Almost immediately she spun back around and slammed the door shut, spinning the wheel-lock closed.

On the other side, her masked assailant smacked into the door. She could hear him pound his fist against the door in frustration. Ignoring him for the moment, Beckett worked fast, grabbing the harness, and pulling it on. She rushed through the fastenings, breath hitching in horror as she saw the wheel begin to spin to unlock on the inner door. There wasn't much time left. It was now a race.

Her heart pounded like a jackhammer beneath her breast as she pulled on the ski mask, ignoring the goggles in favor of hurriedly zipping up her parka and tugging her hood up over her head. She slipped the gloves on as fast as she could. Gritting her teeth, she then worked the wheel on the outer hatch, and it clicked unlock with a satisfying clunk. The door swung open, propelled by a strong gust of freezing wind. Snow and ice flew into the room, coating the floor in white. Beckett risked a glance over her shoulder just as the masked man emerged from the inner door, swinging his weapon menacingly. She pursed her lips and swallowed. She had no choice; she'd run out of time.

Still propelled by adrenalin and instinct, Beckett jumped out into the wind, catching the red storm line and hurriedly clipping her tether to it as she staggered forward, leaning hard into the strong wind. Craning her neck, she stared back at the opening, seeing the killer emerge. However, as she continued on down the line, she lost sight of him as she was swallowed up in the whiteout.


	12. Chapter 11

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 11**_

* * *

Howling, sudden and deafening, surrounded her. The wind kicked up the soft downy snow, creating flurries that obscured her vision. Powerful gusts of wind rocked against her. She had to be careful. It was easy to get lost in a blizzard like this. During all her tenure, down here at the bottom of the world, Kate Beckett had never truly experience a whiteout. They were terrifying things. All ground features vanished, the horizon disappeared, making it impossible to navigate unless you had something to guide you. Luckily, she had a storm line. She had to move quickly. The tumult of snow and ice made it so that she could only see a couple of inches in either direction. Only things in her immediate vicinity were visible.

Beckett struggled down the line, buffeted by the storm. Her gloved hands trembled as she gripped the rope. In her haste to escape from the masked man, she had neglected to put on the ECW jacket. A stupid move, considering the freezing temperatures. However, the cold was the least of her worries at present. Someone was trying to kill her.

She worked down the line until she reached the first stake. Moving as fast as she was able, Kate unhooked the secondary tether from it sheath on her harness, and clipped it the rope. The wind roared around her, like an angry beast. She bit her lower lip, trying to move quickly as she detached the primary tether and secured the clip into the sheath on the harness belt. Heart pounding beneath her breast, Beckett continued on down the red storm line. If she remembered correctly, this portion of the line had a longer gap between the stakes. By her estimation, she was about halfway to the next stake when she felt a sharp vibration run through the taut rope, and she sucked in a chilly breath.

He was on.

Swiveling nervously in a rapid whirl, Beckett spotted the killer materialize out of the white, almost right behind her. He was tethered to the same line as she was. He raised the ice axe as he came. Beckett jumped back as he swung. Her feet landed wrong on the snow-covered ground and she slipped, hitting the ice hard, face first. The impact sent up a small spray of snow around her.

The killer towered over her, raising the axe again. Grunting, Beckett hiked her leg up and drove her heel into his knee. The strike knocked him off balance, and he fell forwards, causing the rope to jar and dip down as he went. The wind plowed into them, causing them both to slide backwards a few inches. He reached for her. She shimmied and kicked, trying to get away, but the wind was working against her, pushing her closer and closer to the masked assailant.

He growled, and groped at her face, going for her unprotected eyes. But she jerked back just in time, leaving his fingers grasping nothing but the black wool of her ski mask. He yanked at it as she pulled back, causing the fabric to rip at the seams. With a violent jerk of his arm, he tore the mask off her, exposing her to the elements. Beckett cried out as the freezing wind caught her face, caressing her smooth cheeks with icy fingertips. With great effort, the killer climbed to his feet, and delivered a rib-cracking kick, causing her to flip over onto her back, gasping for breath, feeling her lungs scream in protest as the cool air rushed in.

The world around her seemed to fade away. Only her strained breathing and the tumult white whirling around her remained. She blinked her eyes, trying to regain focus. Above her, the killer retrieved his ice axe, swirling it threateningly in his hand, the sharp edges shiny with frozen blood.

Beckett did the unthinkable, going against everything she was taught during her training prior to taking up her post in McMurdo. She reached down for her waist, fingering the fastening until she located the one tethering her to the red storm line. It was completely insane, downright risky, but she had no other options. The killer was rearing back, preparing to plunge the ice axe into her chest.

With a quick flick of her wrist, Beckett unclipped her harness from the secondary tether.

The wind immediately grabbed her in its icy fingers, dragging her away into the white tumult of the storm. The killer disappeared from view behind a swirling wall of snow and ice. Beckett twisted her torso and kicked out her legs, trying to maneuver around before she got lost as the wind threw her out. Luck, it appeared, was on her side. She pirouetted around and then slammed hard into a pole, causing the air to expel from her lungs.

Groaning, Beckett latched onto the pole as the wind continued to grab and snatch for her. Her arms and limbs objected, but she managed to haul herself back up to her feet, gripping the metal rod for dear life. Clinching her hood down, Beckett squinted against the harsh elements as she searched the storm with no idea which way to go. Beckett stared up at the pole. Barely visible through the blowing ice were arrowed shaped signs pointing in different directions: _Moscow 17,030; Tokyo 13,329; Fiji 7,877; Los Angeles 15,641_. She closed her eyes and clutched the pole, wrapping her arms around it in a fierce embrace as she mulled over what to do next.

Reaching a conclusion that was only vaguely satisfactory, Beckett pulled herself up and, after a brief hesitation, headed out, leaning into the wind. She staggered blindly, keeping her head down, staring at her feet. It was the only way she could think to protect her face from the elements. The wind attacked her, hitting her hard enough to knock her down. Gritting her teeth, she heaved herself back up, and struggled on. She was not going to die down here like this.

Her lurching gait increased as she continued to lose momentum. She could already feel the cold starting to seep into her core, ensnaring her with its icy tendrils. Hugging torso, Beckett willed herself on, pulling up an image of Castle in her mind as motivation. She had to live. Not for him, but for herself; for the life she had long denied that she could build with him. Because, she swallowed, closing her eyes as she admitted it, because she loved him.

At that moment, something caught against her left shoulder. She blinked her eyes open and squinted. Beckett almost laughed for joy at what she saw. Somehow, by whatever miracle of fate and providence, she had somehow blindly wandered into another storm line.

With shaky hands, Beckett hooked the primary tether to the line, and sighed with relief. Holding on tight, she jerked forward on stiff legs, moving forward one arduous step at a time, hood pulled down low over her uncovered face to protect it from the harsh wind. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she bumped into something. She looked up to see what it was. Her mouth dropped on a startle gasp when it moved.

It was the killer.

He let out a roar as he swung aggressively at her. Beckett's combat instincts took over. She blocked his strike with one arm, and with the other grabbed the axe head. He growled, yanking his arm back with a vicious snap to it, tearing the axe free and taking her glove with it.

"Fuck!" she swore, staggering back.

The masked man jammed his gloved fist towards her and she ducked, kicked her boot out against his shin. He cried out, bending awkwardly to soothe the abused spot. Taking the opportunity, Beckett hooked her arm around the storm line and gave it a sharp tug. The action worked, causing his tether to go taut and take him with it. He hastily swiped at her with the axe as he fell, landing with a hard thud on the ice. The axe missed her, but cut through the line.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, almost like in one of those ridiculous cartoons. The killer glanced at the severed storm line and back up at her. And then, in the blink of an eye, a gust of strong wind snatched him, pulling him away into the blizzard. Beckett swayed, nearly thrown into the white as well, but she'd had her arm curled around the rope, secured. Clinging to the rope, she was swung back and forth across the ice like a pendulum.

Digging her feet into the ground, she managed to bring the violent swaying to a skidding stop. Beckett summoned up all her strength to heave herself to her feet. And with haltering and staggering steps, she hiked down the line through the blurring white snow. By the time she finally reached a building, she felt more dead than alive. She stumbled against the door and unthinkingly grabbed the wheel-lock with both hands—one gloved, one not. She hissed out as a sharp pain shot up through her left hand. It was like flames snarling at her unprotected skin. The sensation was confusing and contradictory with what she would have expected. But still, she managed to turn the wheel, unlocking the door.

The hatch swung wide and she stumbled in, but jerked back when her uncovered hand refused to release from the wheel. Somewhere in her muddled mind, Beckett registered the fact that her bare hand had become frozen to the metal. Yet she was still too dazed and battered from not just the beating she took from the masked man, but from the storm as well. Ripping her hand free, her scream was lost to the wind.

Beckett tumbled and collapsed inside, just barely managing to slam the door shut behind her. She cradled her left hand to her chest. It throbbed like it was on fire. And that was her last thought, before she slumped down to the dirty floor and slipped into unconsciousness.


	13. Chapter 12

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 12**_

* * *

It was a bright day. So very bright. It didn't seem to fit with the somber occasion. Captain Roy Montgomery was dead. He had died, sacrificing himself for her, in some twisted form of redemption. But it was selfish. He could have lived, giving dates, names, anything and everything he knew about the man behind it all. Kate Beckett wanted justice for her mother's death. Burying Roy Montgomery did not feel like justice. It was a tragedy. One that could have been so easily avoided if he'd just told her the truth instead of dying.

The sun was to hot and bright. It felt wrong. She stood up there, at the podium, delivering a eulogy for her fallen commander; for a man that had meant more to her than simply being her superior officer. And now he was gone. It angered her so much. She was angry at him for dying, for leaving when there was still so much work to be done.

But she had also loved him, because of who he had been. Her mentor. Her friend. Another father.

So, she honored him, as best she could. She couldn't craft words together as eloquently as Castle, so she spoke from the heart. Pausing in her speech, she glanced longingly over at Castle, standing by her side, supporting her despite all the mean things she'd said to him.

"You know what we are, Castle? We're over."

She hadn't meant that. Not really. She'd been angry, pissed off that he'd read her so well. She was afraid. Of so many things. But most of all, she was afraid what it would mean to truly open herself up to him, to allow herself to love and be loved in return. It scared her to hell.

And then her chest explored in agonizing pain. She fell backwards, landing hard in the wet grass. She could smell it, like rusted iron. Her dress blues were soaking in it. Her blood. But then he was there, the sun haloing his beautiful face like some divine being sent to save her. And he did. He gave her the words that kept her from succumbing to the pull of death.

She was so suddenly so sleepy. Her eyes grew heavy and she closed them.

"Stay with me, Kate," came his voice, urging her to stay awake.

Groaning, she opened her eyes, squinting up at the blurry figure that stood over her. She still had some fight left in her. She worked her jaw, forced her mouth to move.

"Castle?"

"It's okay, it's okay," came a soothing voice. A gentle hand tenderly caressed her face. She hummed, smiling slightly, easing into the touch. "You're safe now."

She settled back, feeling safe, and relaxed, fading back into unconsciousness.

XXX

She woke with a start.

Almost immediately, she closed her eyes again and groaned. Her whole body ached, especially her left hand, which throbbed relentlessly. When she next opened her eyes, she was more aware of her surroundings. She was in one of the dingy rooms back in Vostok station, lying in one of the ratty bunks, wrapped in starchy, scratchy blankets. An old, wrinkled faced Russian slowly lowered her wound hand, wrapped in cloth bandages and gauze. She glanced down at her bare arm, noticing the blotting of bruises along her pale skin.

"Fuck," she hissed out, dropping her head back into the mattress. The old Russian chuckled.

"Ah, you're finally awake," came a familiar voice with a Brooklyn intonation. Reggie Talbot.

Shoving away the old man, Beckett grunted as she sat up. Reggie stood in the doorway, cradling a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. Her nostrils twitched, catching scent of the aroma. It might be worse than the sludge they had in the precinct before Castle showed up, but she would still drink it.

Holding up her right hand, she beckoned Reggie over, eyes lingering on the steaming cup. He smiled, and offered it to her. She took it greedily and swallowed a mouthful in one gulp, nearly gagging at the foul flavor.

"Shit," she exclaimed, grimacing. It definitely tasted worse, if that were even possible. After a moment, she shrugged—coffee was coffee—and took another sip. Licking her lips, she looked up at Reggie. "What happened?"

"When you didn't come back after the whiteout, we went looking for you," Reggie told her. "We found a dead guy in the other building—that Tallis?"

"Yeah," Beckett nodded. "Someone got to him before I did. Then came after me." She paused for another sip of the terrible coffee. "How long was I out?"

"A couple of hours," Reggie said. "Yuri carried you back from the supply building we'd found you in. Damn, Beckett, you're lucky we found you when we did. Any longer and your core temperature would have hit the point of no return."

Beckett glanced over at the old Russian, then looked back at Reggie and quirked up an eyebrow in question.

"He's been looking after you," he supplied. "I think he's the station medic, but I'm not sure. My Russian isn't as good as yours."

The old man flashed her a crooked smile, displaying a mouth full of yellow teeth.

"Спасибо вам большое," she said, expressing a greater degree of gratitude than simply saying thanks.

He inclined his head. Turning back to Reggie, she gritted her teeth as she pushed the blankets off ignoring the old man's objections. Beckett glanced around the room for her parka and boots.

"Whoa there, Marshal!" Reggie said, eyes wide. "Shouldn't you rest?"

Grumbling, Beckett shook her head. "I've rest long enough," she bit out. "I need to get back out there."

XXX

Walking down the corridors of the derelict and abandoned building, now that Yuri and his men had reconnected it to the main power generator, almost made her previous visit feel like it had been a dream. A very bad dream. Reggie worked to keep pace with her, and she suppressed a smirk. She may be battered and bruised, but she wasn't out. Many a scumbag back in New York had made the mistake of underestimating her. She was tenacious, and never gave up.

"Whoever killed Tallis and attacked you," Reggie said, "could have flown out after the storm broke."

Beckett was inclined to agree, but didn't bother to voice it.

Reggie stared at her with a quizzical expression. "You sure you're okay?" he asked, gazing at her bandaged hand.

It was a moment before she responded. "I'm fine," she insisted, even though in her gut she knew that wasn't the truth. Thankfully, the pilot didn't press her for more. She liked that about him.

The door to the lounge was still open and, Beckett noticed, slightly off the hinges. Reggie hesitated at the threshold before following her inside. His dark eyes went wide. She recognized the look and stopped, placing her right hand on his arm, offering him an understanding look.

"I'd never seen a dead body before until…," he trailed off, and gulped, taking his cap off and wringing it nervously in his hands. "Now I'm at two."

"It's okay," she offered. "Stay here."

Beckett approached the body in the same manner she would if it had been a crime scene in New York. She paused for a beat, collecting her thoughts, the ritual that Richard Castle captured so well in _Heat Wave_. He had her pegged far sooner than she cared to admit. She knelt down by the body and stared at Dr. Enric Tallis for a long moment, silently apologizing for not getting to him sooner.

"I'll find the son-of-a-bitch who did this," she swore. "I promise."

Standing back up, Beckett spun around and walked in the direction her weapon had skidded to during the fight with the masked man. After a little searching, she found it, along with her flashlight. She slid her Glock back into the holster on her hip and sighed, finding comfort with having the familiar weight on her side.

"Okay, let's go," she said. "We'll see if the Russians can transport the body back to ASB for us."

"What!?" Reggie hooted in shock. "That's it?"

Beckett rolled her shoulders. "Nothing more we can do."

She stalked past him, heading back down the hall. Her eyes narrowed as she glared down the corridor, catching a glimpse of a flicker of light coming from one of the opened doors further down. Reggie stopped, almost bumping into her.

"What is it?" he questioned.

Holding up her injured hand to silence him, she moved her right hand down to grip her reacquired Glock, grateful to have it back. "Stay close," she whispered.

Moving with care not to make any noise, Beckett eased down the hall towards the flicker of light, shoulders tense, eyes alert, keeping her back tight to the wall. She reached the edge of the door, which was opened just slightly, enough for her to look in. Shifting positions, Beckett ducked her head around the corner to take a peek.

Inside the room she spied a man in a black ECW jacket with his back to her. He had a flashlight in one hand and was digging through a duffel bag with the other. Beckett scanned the room, seeing items strewn across the floor. Another bag has already been searched, completely turned inside out. Setting her jaw, Beckett quietly drew her weapon and slipped into the room.

"U.S. Marshal, hands up!" she commanded.

His body tensed.

"Take it easy," he said in a calm voice.

Beckett's gut twitched in vague recognition and her brow knitted together.

"Shut it!" she ordered, shaking it off. "Let me see your hands."

This time he obeyed. He raised his hands.

"Good," she nodded, firming up her hold on her gun. "Now, turn around." And then added. "Slowly."

He did as command. And the moment his intelligent blue eyes, mischievous smirk, and ruggedly handsome face, covered with a wisp of stubble, came into view, Beckett nearly dropped her weapon in shock.

"Castle!?" she gaped, too stunned to do anything else but stare at him.

He smiled, that same charming, smug smile he had when they first met all those years ago at the book launch party for _Storm Fall_. "Beckett," he replied, still holding up his hands, as calm and smooth as ever.

She blinked rapidly, brow furrowing. "What… I… er… um… what are you doing here?" she stammered out, hating how she was suddenly all tongue-tied.

"Wait!" hooted Reggie, stepping out from behind her. "You know each other?"

"Yes," Beckett inclined her head.

"From New York," Castle added, still smirking. He glanced back at Beckett. "Can I lower my hands now?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry," she grimaced, retracting her Glock and holstering it. She adjusted her footing and cocked her head as she stared at him, still somewhat dumbstruck at finding him down here at the bottom of the world.

"Surprised to see me?" he asked, chuckling, eyes twinkling with that ever-present mischievous glint.

"Yeah, you could say that," she nodded, befuddled. He'd never change, would he? She decided that was a good thing. "So… um… yeah, what are you doing here?"

"Besides rescuing you?" he questioned, waggling his eyebrows.

" _Rescuing_ me?" she echoed, glancing over at Reggie.

"Um… yeah," the pilot bobbed his head in confirmation, shoving his hands in his pockets and going for a relaxed stance, but failing. "He arrived not long after the whiteout ended. Helped Yuri and me find you, bring you back to the main building."

"Still doesn't answer my question," Beckett almost snapped, growing impatient. She flirted her gaze back to Castle. She didn't like surprises, even pleasant, ruggedly handsome ones like this. "Why are you here?"

"Whoa, easy there, Beckett," he held up his hands. "The FBI sent me."

"Why would the FBI send—?" and then it clicked. Her eyes grew wide as it all fell into place. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered under her breath, then stared at Castle in shock. "The FBI consultant! He's _you._ "

"Bingo!" he beamed, and then nudged Reggie with his elbow. "Told you she was smart."

"Man, I knew that before you even showed up," the pilot shook his head, looking uncomfortable, as if he could sense that there was some sort of history between them, yet wasn't able to determine what kind.

Beckett, however, wasn't inclined to air out their luggage with an audience. That, she decided, could wait for later. Thankfully, it appeared Castle agreed, because he didn't divulge any more information. Shaking her head, momentarily pondering the possibility she was dreaming, Beckett approached the bunk with the opened duffel bag, deciding it was easier to focus on the investigation over the fact that the man she'd finally admitted she was in love with had suddenly shown up down here in Antarctica, as an FBI consultant, no less.

She briefly recalled an incident when she'd found him standing over the body of a murdered woman after not seeing him for an entire summer… a painful summer. And then he'd popped up again at another murder scene. Castle had said something about fate and trusting the universe then. She had scoffed and threatened to cuff him. But now Beckett was willing to concede that if him showing up here was a sign from the universe, then she wouldn't ignore it like she had before.

Beckett reached down with her uninjured hand, nudging the opening wider. Nothing special inside, just rolled up wool socks, a couple shirts and two pairs of woman's underwear, and a sports bra. Beckett frowned, shifted the bag around to see a name stitched into the side underneath the American flag: _Bettis_. Her eyebrows shot up. Annalise Bettis was part of Dr. Tallis's research group. She glanced again at the other bags, noticing that each one belonged to a member of the _Delta One One_ team.

As if sensing her need to focus on the case, Castle did as well. "I read up on your investigation on route," he explained. "I was headed for Amundsen-Scott Base to meet you when the station manager told me where you were, so as soon as the weather permitted, I grabbed a pilot and came here." She nodded as he went on. "While you were recovering, I figured I'd get a head start on the scene. You know me, can't keep my hands to myself, so when I saw these bags just lying here I just had to snoop. Figured I might find some answers in their gear, but there's nothing here but clothes."

Beckett arched her neck to look back at him. God, he was handsome, more so than she remembered. Clenching her jaw, she stifled her feelings. She was in no condition to deal with them just yet. _Later_ , she told herself, briefly flicking her eyes over to Reggie, _when we don't have an audience_.

"This is part of a crime scene, Castle," she all but growled, which made him grin wider, which, in turn, only annoyed her more. "Why the hell didn't you keep your gloves on?"

He had the decency to look sheepish. "Yeah, sorry about that," he relented. "But considering the time constraints we're up against, let's be honest, Beckett, tagging and bagging everything isn't going to be an option. And I'm not just some author shadowing you for research now… I'm a consultant… with the FBI." He said that last part with a big happy grin that made her want to smile to, but she resisted the temptation. He was so proud of himself, and from the hopeful look in his eyes, she could tell he was hoping to find some pride in hers.

"Hold on a second," Reggie interjected, an excited gleam to his eye. "You're _the_ Richard Castle… the author!?"

"Yes, yes I am," Castle grinned smugly, flashing a wink in Beckett's direction.

"Cool, man," Reggie said, then let out a yelp. "Shit! That means you're Nikki Heat!" he exclaimed pointing at Beckett.

She pursed her lips and glared at him. "I am not Nikki Heat," she grumbled, frowning disgruntledly.

"No, no, you're not," Castle agreed, still grinning. "But you were the inspiration."

"Don't remind me," she scoffed, rolling her eyes, but from the look on Castle's face, she could tell he knew she didn't mean it. It astonished just how easy it was to slip back into the casual teasing and banter they'd once shared so effortlessly. It was nice, comforting, like a slice of home.

"I've read all your books, Mr. Castle," Reggie gushed.

"Really?" Castle raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Okay," Reggie relented with a half-shrug. "Maybe not all of them, but most of Derrick Storm and all of Nikki Heat. They're really good. My wife loved _Heat Rises_."

"Is that so," Castle said, reaching up to pat the man's shoulder in a jovial manner. "Then I'll have to sign a copy for you before you ship back to the States."

"You'd really do that, Mr. Castle?" Reggie inquired, amazed.

"Sure," Castle replied, smiling charmingly. "Anything for a fan. And call me, Rick."

Beckett bit her lower lip, watching the whole exchange with a quiet delight. Her heart clenched, singing with glee at the sight of Richard Castle. His appearance had been completely unexpected, and she would definitely have to question him about how he became a consultant with the FBI. A frown marred her face as a sudden thought crossed her mind. Her nose wrinkled in worry. She hoped that it didn't mean he had stopped writing the Nikki Heat books. Yes, she had not been too thrilled when he'd initially started shadowing her and using her life as inspiration for his books, but as they spent more time together, becoming friends—partners—and after she had finally read the words she had inspired, her opinions on Nikki Heat had changed from her original assessments. Beckett didn't know if she could forgive herself if her decisions and actions had caused him to stop writing those stories.

Ducking her head down to conceal her face, Beckett stepped around the two men as they chatted, heading for the door.

"Beckett?" Castle called, following after her.

She smirked. _Just like old times_ , she thought pleasantly.

"Tallis had the others' bags with him," she explained. "But Yuri said that he was alone when he arrived, asking for transport."

"So?" Reggie asked, taking up the rear.

Castle bobbed his head, understanding. "You need to head to the camp… _Delta One One_?"

She glanced at Castle with a tight grin. "Maybe. Why? Wanna tag along?"

"Of course, wouldn't miss it," he smiled back at her, eyes sparkling. "Besides, the FBI didn't fly me down here to sit around and twiddle my thumbs."

Beckett walked along the corridor, cradling her injured hand to her chest. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the throbbing. Castle glanced at her with a concern look in his eyes, but wisely didn't mention it. He was smart like that.

"What do you think they were doing out there? At _Delta One One_?" he asked, blessedly turning the focus onto the case as he hurried after her. "Digging?"

Beckett huffed. "You don't dig for meteorites," she pointed out.

"Well, if they were digging out there, that's a direct violation of the United Nations treaty," Castle said. When she flashed him a look, he grinned. "I told you I read up on the case."

"Yeah, okay," she said, waving it off with her right hand. "They were supposed to be surveying for meteorites. And you don't get killed for them." She licked her lips, and glanced over at him, keeping her voice quiet, so Reggie didn't hear her. "It's good to see you, Rick," she admitted, and swallowed. "I'm glad you're here."

His answering smile was like music to her ears. All those years together, working side by side, Beckett liked to think she'd learned enough about his body language to read him. Her heart thumped with the secret knowledge of what that smile really meant.

Castle picked up the pace to match her stride, and dipped his head down so only she could hear his low hum of approval. "You still smell like cherries."

She didn't even bother suppressing the smile.


	14. Chapter 13

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 13**_

* * *

Beckett needed to take care of some business before they left Vostok for the _Delta One One_ campsite. She sent Castle with Reggie to stock up on some supplies while she commandeered the Russian radio transmitter to talk with Sam Murphy in McMurdo.

"Listen to me, Murphy," she spoke into the microphone. It was like something out of the golden age of radio. She was amazed it still worked. "It's got to be Fegetter who tried to kill me. Herrera doesn't match the body type—too skinny, but… Ah hell, it might have been Casey Beckcom, she's built right, but I'm pretty sure my attacker was male, even with the mask. But that doesn't matter. The point is you have to shut down flight leaving ASB and McMurdo—search for them, and Annalise Bettis."

" _That's not possible_ ," Murphy replied, sounding tired and exasperated. " _We're still bringing people in and resupplying other bases for winter-over_."

Beckett pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes in thought. She needed something to convince him, but the problem was she didn't have any hard evidence yet, just what her gut was telling her. "Sam, I think these guys found something out there at the camp," she put forth. "The FBI consultant is here, and we're going to take Reggie and check it out. Until we find the rest of the _Delta One One_ group, no one leaves the ice. Not yet."

She could imagine Murphy scrubbing a frustrated hand down his face.

" _You're a pain in my ass, Beckett, you know that?_ "

"I do," she grinned, knowing she had him.

" _Okay, I'll put a hold on flights for 24 hours_ ," he relented. And then continued before she could protest and demand more time. " _Sorry, that's the best I can give you. Take it or leave it, Marshal_."

Beckett suppressed a growl. "I'll take it," she answered. It would have to do. She clicked off the radio, and leaned back in the chair.

Her left hand still felt like it was on fire, but at least the sensation had lessened to a dull throb, localized in her pinky and ring fingers. She tried to clench her hand into a fist, only to find it extremely difficult. Relaxing her hand, Beckett released a breath, silently cursing. She didn't want to think about it.

A knock startled her, and she swiveled around in the chair to look up, relaxing when she saw Castle standing in the doorway. He casually leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, looking so ruggedly sexy in a blue and dark gray plaid shirt over a wool turtle neck. He folded his arms across his chest as he stared back at her.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Fine," she answered.

An uncomfortable silence filled the space between them. Beckett pursed her lips and avoided his gaze. Finally, unable to stand the growing tension, she snapped her head up and returned his steady look.

"You said you'd call," he said, so serious and quiet that it was almost frightening. He stared at her with hard eyes, demanding, veiled with a thin layer of anger and hurt.

She swallowed, and ducked her head down, brushing a stray strand of hair behind an ear to buy her time to formulate a response. "I wanted to," Beckett eventually proclaimed, uneasy and worried, eyebrows knitting together as she spoke, uncomfortable with showing any signs of vulnerability, even in front of a man who'd seen her at her lowest. "But, I couldn't."

"Why?" he asked, arms crossed over his chest, eyes almost feral with anger. She could see the passion in him, lurking beneath the surface, straining against the chains he kept it locked under.

She wasn't used to seeing him displaying such restraint. The Richard Castle she knew wore his heart on his sleeve, except, she had to admit, when it came to her. He'd always been cautious with her. He flirted with her, yes, but when it came to something deeper, more meaningful, something always held him back. Perhaps, she pondered, studying him now, it scared him just as much as it scared her.

"I needed to work some things out," she forced out, not really ready for this conversation. Hell, she didn't know if she'd ever truly be ready. It was just one of those things.

"Oh, yeah," he hummed, unsympathetic, and not bothering to hide it. "Needed to run all the way to Antarctica to do that? Just up and leave without telling anyone."

That wasn't how it had happened, but she knew what he was really saying. She hadn't told him.

"I'm sorry about that," Beckett admitted, surprised she was able to. She glanced up to meet his eyes, pleading with him to read her like he had done before, so very well, all those years ago when they first met.

He looked like he wanted to push further, but something held him back. After a second, he simply nodded in response.

She stood up and adjusted her parka. "We ready?"

"Yeah. Reggie is just finishing up refueling," Castle easily shifted topics, seeming willing to let the matter slide for the moment, much to Beckett's relief. "We're just waiting on you."

"Then we should go," she said, moving to leave the communication room, but Castle blocked her path. She pursed her lips and frowned, heart nearly jumping in her throat as she wondered if she'd misjudged. "Castle."

He gave her a pointed look. "How's the hand, Beckett?" he insisted, obviously concerned. "Be honest."

She gritted her teeth, but relented. If there was anything that she should do with this man, it was to be honest. "It hurts like hell. Happy?"

"I'll be happy when you get it checked out by a doctor," he replied. "Maybe we should go back to Amundsen-Scott Base first—"

"That would take too much time," she cut him off. "Time we don't have. Murphy only agreed to put a 24 hour hold on flights."

Castle looked like he wanted to protest, but he held his tongue. _A miracle_ , Beckett thought. Not like him at all. Maybe he had change more than she had thought. He was more serious now. And, she didn't know why, but that sadden her a bit.

"All right," he backed down, though didn't look happy about it.

"I'll have Dr. Marston check it out the moment we get back to ASB, promise," she said, brushing against his side as she maneuvered around him. She bit her lower lip when his breath hitched and his eyes grew dark. Good. Beckett was pleased she still had that effect on him. She purposely put a little extra sway to her hips as she walked away, pausing momentarily to glance back with a quirk of her lips. "You coming, Castle?"

XXX

The Viking Air DHC-6 Twin Otter rattled along up above the ice, buffered by the high winds on occasion, but not enough to disturb its passengers. Beckett sat up front in the copilot seat next to Reggie as he checked the instrumentation and readings. She scrubbed her right hand down her face, tucking the loose strands of her brown hair behind her ears. Arching her neck, she looked into the backseat, where Richard Castle sat slumped back in the chair, asleep. Jetlag had caught up with him. His handsome face was relaxed and content. Her lips tugged upwards at the sight.

"So…," Reggie hedged. "What's the story between you two?"

She opened her mouth to deny, but he cut her off before she could.

"And don't you try and tell me there's nothing there, because, shit man, I can tell there's something there. Plain as day. Am I right, right?"

Relenting with a sigh, Beckett eased back into her chair and glared out the window, staring down at the endless stretch of ice flying by beneath them. "He followed me around when I was a detective with the NYPD for research," she answered, stating the obvious.

"Shit, I already knew that, _Nikki_ ," he teased, flashing her a grin at her glower. "What happened? You two bump uglies and then things get awkward?"

Beckett had to bite back a laugh. "If only it were that simple," she said, shaking her head. "Let's just say, it's complicated."

Reggie glanced over at her with a raised eyebrow. "Hell, Beckett, life's complicated. Everyone knows that. Besides, the best things in life are often the most difficult." He paused, flicking his eyes over to the photo taped to the dashboard. "I'm here working, away from Janelle and Nate. I miss them like hell, but if I wasn't here, making the money I am faring all you crazies around this freezing hell hole, I wouldn't be able to send little Nate to college someday. He'll have all the advantages I didn't. And that makes this all worth it. So," he turned and gave her a long hard look, "don't give me that 'it's complicated' line."

She smiled, patting his arm. "You're a good father, Reggie."

"Thanks," he grinned, then stared back at her. "Don't think buttering me up with compliments will get you out of an answer, girl."

Beckett bit her lower lip to suppress another laugh. "I hated him at first, sticking his nose into my business, butting in where he wasn't wanted," she relented. "But, over time he grew on me. I was able to see glimpses of the real man—the devoted son and loving father—hidden behind the playboy façade he put on for the public and media." She sighed, shifting back to stare longingly out the window. "I learned to appreciate his partnership at work, even missing it when he was absent. We worked well together. And we became friends. Good friends." She glanced back at Castle's sleeping form, milking in the image of his beautiful face. "He doesn't know this, but I was willing to give us a try once."

"What happened?"

She shrugged. "Missed opportunity," was her answer. "I waited too long to make a decision and I— _we_ —lost our chance."

Reggie shook his head. "Not that it's any of my business, but he's clearly crazy about you," the pilot said as he made some adjustment to his instruments, and banked the plane to the left. "I could see it in his eyes, in the way he looks at you."

"I know," Beckett admitted softly, averting her eyes. "He told me."

"Then why aren't you two together, then?"

"It's—"

"I swear to God, if you say _it's complicated_ , I will turn this plane around!" Reggie exclaimed with a faux glare.

Beckett furrowed her brow. "But it is," she insisted. "As you said, Reggie, life's complicated."

He let out an irritated huff. "Well, if you want my advice, which you probably don't," he said with a chuckle. "I say you just kiss him and get it over with. Seize the day, and all that crap, you know?"

 _If wishes were horses_ , Beckett thought, turning in her seat to glance down at the ice. She narrowed her eyes, spotting a cropping of neon green tents in the distance. "I think that's our destination," she said, pointing, silently glad for something to end the conversation, though, it had almost felt like an interrogation.

Reggie nodded, spotting it as well. He checked the gauges on the instrument panel. "Two minutes out," he said. He unclipped the radio from the dashboard and offered it to her. "Wanna try calling them?"

"No," she shook her head. "I have feeling they're already gone."

XXX

They were gone.

The place looked deserted.

The snow crunched under her boots as she walked towards the five tents, arrayed in a haphazard pattern in the middle of nowhere. This was the _Delta One One_ camp that both victims, Geoff Cassaday and Dr. Enric Tallis, had been working. According to the log back in the Amundsen-Scott Base sub-station manager's office, the team was supposedly out here looking for meteorites. A snowcat was parked off to the side of the largest of the tents, which had tool chests plunked down around it, as well as several drums of gasoline. The sky was dark with clouds and the wind moaned around her.

Castle was walking alongside her as Reggie attended the plane, strapping it down to the ice in case they got hit with more severe winds. She could hear him hammering in the stakes as they approached the camp perimeter. Out of the corner of her eyes, Beckett caught Castle suppressing a yawn.

"What time is it?" he asked.

On instinct Beckett brought her left hand up to look at her father's wristwatch, only to be reminded of the injury she'd suffered during the earlier whiteout. She pursed her lips and frowned. Using her right hand, she tore open one of the Velcro pockets on her parka and retrieved a digital chronometer.

"Two thirty," she told him.

Castle knitted his brows together as he worked to suppress another yawn. "AM or PM?"

Beckett smirked. "AM."

"Wonderful," he grumbled, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets.

"Welcome to the South Pole!" she declared with sardonic cheer, earning a smile from him. That pleased her more than it should. Gesturing towards the big tent, she said, "I'll take this one, you check out that one over there."

"Shouldn't we stick together?" he asked, brow lowering with worry. "What if the killer—?"

"The place is abandoned, Castle," Beckett insisted.

"You don't know that," he asserted, growling low in his throat.

"I have a gut feeling," she told him, stopping to stare at him with a determined look.

Castle conceded with a nod. "Your gut is hardly wrong." He narrowed his eyes as he gazed at her, the concern evident in the lines etched around his eyes and mouth.

"I'm fine, Castle," she assured him, reaching over with her right hand to squeezed his arm. "Besides, I have a gun."

He smiled, visibly relaxing, but she could still see the uneasiness in his eyes. "All right," he relented. "Just… if you…"

"I'll call you right away," she asserted, meeting his worried gaze, hoping that eye contact would soothe him. However, she hadn't expected a jolt of electric energy to pulse through her body when their eyes met. The spark was still there, the needy attraction and desire. She pursed her lips and worked to stifle her quickening pulse as her gaze lingered over his beautiful face, slipping subtly down to his lips before returning to his sparkling blue eyes.

"Just be safe, Kate," he spoke in a softer tone.

"You too," she echoed the sentiment with a brief nod of her head. He looked like he wanted to say more, she could see that, but he held back. She admired his restraint, which, knowing how he usually was, she found most impressive. It wasn't the time, Beckett silently agreed.

After one more shared look, they parted ways, him heading to the left while she ducked her head down and entered the big tent, all the while working at regaining control of her breathing and the wild pumping of her heart. She had it bad. Always did, really, when it came to Richard Castle.

It was too dark inside the tent to see anything. Beckett made a move to pull out her flashlight with her left hand, but then stopped herself. Cursing, she dug into her pocket with her right hand, extracting her flashlight. Frowning, Beckett swept the beam of light across the interior, seeing a litter of personal effects, but then spotted a trail of blood leading to a cot between two others. Someone was huddled in a yellow sleeping bag on top of the cot. Beckett felt her body go tense. She switched hands, gingerly wrapping the fingers of her injured hand around the flashlight, holding it steady, while she reached for her Glock with her other.

"Fegetter?" she called. No response. She tried the other three names. "Beckcom? Herrera? Bettis?"

Again, there was no response.

Beckett flicked her thumb off the holster's safety latch, and curled her fingers along the butt of her gun, ready to withdraw it if the need arose. With light steps, she approached the cot, eyes narrowing as she noticed the pool of blood underneath it. Her chest clenched. No. Not another.

Using her flashlight, she gently tapped the figure in the sleeping bag. The person did not stir. Lifting her eyes, she scanned the rest of the interior. She appeared alone. Letting go of her weapon, Beckett reached for the flap at the top of the sleeping bag and slowly pulled it back.

"Beckcom," she breathed out, recognizing the woman with the short wavy hair from her photograph.

She put her flashlight down on the ground, angling it to illuminate the grizzly sight. Working efficiently, Beckett tugged the zipper along the side of the bright yellow sleeping bag and then pulled it back to uncover the rest of the body.

Casey Beckcom had been murdered, there was no doubt, what with the jagged wound in her chest. But that wasn't the only injury. Her leg was broken, and judging from the tourniquet, someone had attempted to set the break. Beckett retrieved a digital camera from one of her other pockets and started taking pictures. Once she had enough, she went back outside, telling Reggie to radio ASB, and inform them about the discovery. She waited a moment, out on the ice, watching as he dashed back to the Twin Otter. Closing her eyes, she took long, calming breaths.

Settled, she turned and marched up towards the tent she'd sent Castle. Ducking her head, she pulled back the flap and entered. The interior was lit by a single dim bulb, suspend from above. The power lines ran along the top of the tent and down the side, connecting with portable generators that emitted a low, dull hum.

Tilting her head around, Beckett took in the opened space inside the tent. There were two long tables. Both had a microscope on the far side. The rest of the flat surface was covered with various instruments and sample containers. At the far end stood a white board similar to the one she'd used at the Twelfth Precinct during murder investigations. Castle was standing in front of it, examining the numerous photos of meteorites and scientific figures, scrawled in a clear and neat hand.

Castle turned, noticing her. "Well, I guess they did need to _dig_ to find these meteorites," he said, frowning when he noticed her expression. "Find anything?"

She nodded, and filled him in on the discovery of Casey Beckcom's body.

He grimaced. "That's three now."

"I know," Beckett replied, equally grim. "The body count's rising."

She stalked down between the tables, bending down to look through the microscope lens. All she could see was specks of dust. Leaning back, she glanced back down over the table, rifling through a notebook with research notes and observations. Castle joined her, picking up a sample container and shaking its contents. Beckett struggled to suppress a smile.

"Always gotta touch things?" she commented, phrasing it like a question, but it was more statement.

He shrugged, glancing at her with a mischievous quirk of an eyebrow. "It's endearing, isn't it?"

"At least you're still wearing your gloves this time," she quipped back, earning a sardonic chuckle from him.

"Missed me, Detective… or should I say, _Marshal_?" he asked with a playful smirk and a boyish sparkle to his brilliant blue eyes.

Beckett chose to go with honesty rather than snark. "Yes, I did," she said, stunning him to silence. She smiled, pleased with her small victory, before turning to the other table.

The tent flap opened and Reggie ducked in, shivering and rubbing his hands over his arms. Beckett was grateful he'd missed the exchange. Castle remained where he was, frozen in place, still processing her answer. He worked his jaw, like he was building up the nerve to ask her something else, her eyes alighted on green binder.

"Their daily work log," she spoke aloud as she opened it and started flipping through the pages. Castle snapped out of his daze and stepped over to join her, looking over her shoulder. She had to press her lips together to stop the smile from his crowding presence at her back.

Thankfully Reggie had become engrossed with a bizarre looking piece of equipment. It looked like a red box on wheels with a handle like a lawn mower. A circular antenna sprouted from the front of the box.

"This thing looks like my dad's old lawn mower," he asserted, grabbing the handle, and pushing the thing back and forth like he was trimming imaginary grass.

"It's a ground penetrating radar," Castle said, glancing up, bemused at Reggie's actions. He moved to join the man, and Beckett felt silly for it, but she immediately missed his presence behind her. "Surveyors use radar to detect changes in the ground," he was saying. "While it can identify items such as pipes, voids, and soil, it cannot identify the special materials, such as gold and precious gems… or meteorites," he added, sweeping his hand over the samples littering the other table. "Despite that, it is very useful in providing subsurface mapping of potential gem-bearing pockets."

"Wow," Reggie exclaimed, glancing back and forth between the machine and Castle. "Where'd you learn that?"

"Research for a Derrick Storm book," he replied, waving a hand like it was no big deal, then frowned. "Don't recall if I used it, though. Still… the information stuck in my head." He tapped his temple with two fingers. "There's a lot stored up here."

"Most of it useless," Beckett interjected with a smirk, earning a dramatic hurt look from Castle.

He placed a hand over his heart and stuck his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. "You wound me, Marshal Beckett. You wound me."

"Just going with what I see," she offered in return, enjoying the banter. She had almost forgot how fun it was. It was stilly, but she kind of preferred him calling her _detective_ over her current title of _marshal._

Castle walked around the table scattered with meteorites samples to rejoin her. He stopped on the other end, cocking his head to examine a map that had been spread out on the table top. The ice field surrounding the camp had been marked off into sections, forming a search grid. Not too surprising, considering why the team was officially out here.

"They were surveying each section at a time," he commented.

"Areas labeled?"

"Yeah," he bobbed his head.

Beckett flipped through the book. "Looks like they spent one day on Sections 101 and 102."

Castle moved his hand over the map, locating the sections.

"Two days at 103," she read out loud.

He found that one as well.

"And…," she paused, narrowing her eyes to double check that she was reading it correctly.

"What?" Castle questioned when she'd been silent for a time.

"Seven days at Section 104," Beckett answered. "That was a month ago."

He looked up at her, and she stared back. Her heart clenched when the familiar rush of shared communication passed between them. It was both thrilling and exciting… _arousing_. Beckett hadn't realized how much she'd missed this, building theory with Castle was almost like foreplay.

"That's the spot," the both chimed at once, locking gazes and grinning like the lovesick fools they were.

Beckett was the first to snap out of it, quickly returning her beaming features to neutral. "How far?" she asked.

Castle shook his head, but was unable to keep the grin off his face. He arched his neck down and scanned the map, his pointer finger hovering over the marked grid as he searched. His brow wrinkled adorably, and he closed his eyes, lips moving silently as he made the calculations with his brilliant mind. "About four miles."

Beckett slapped the binder shut. "Let's go see what they found."


	15. Chapter 14

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 14**_

* * *

They took the snowcat. The tracks clanked and crunched as it powered across the featureless ice—the loneliest place on Earth. Or so Kate Beckett thought, tentatively glancing back at Castle sitting in the backseat, head down as he skimmed through the notebook they'd found in the research tent. She admired his ability to concentrate with the shaky and bumpy ride, fondly remembering the many times he had complained about her NYPD-issued Crown Victoria and the loose spring in the passenger seat that kept poking him in the butt.

She turned back around and glanced at the GPS device in her hand.

"Which way?" Reggie asked.

"Just keep heading North," she answered. After running a check on all the indicators above the snowcat, Beckett had located the GPS unit on the dashboard, and entered in the coordinators for Section 104. Stretching out, she slipped the device back into its cradle. Leaning back into her seat, Beckett clenched her jaw as a spasm of fiery pain shot out from her left hand. She grimaced and worked to massage the gloved hand with her other.

"Hurt?" Castle asked from the backseat.

"Yeah, a little," she admitted in a soft voice.

He narrowed his eyes, clearly seeing it ached more than she was letting on, but he didn't press. Instead, he dug a protein bar out of his bag and handed it to her.

"Here, eat this," he said.

"No thank you," she refused.

He gave her a pointed look. "When was the last time you ate?"

She didn't answer.

"Take it, Kate," he insisted.

Grumbling, she accepted the bar, and ripped the wrapping with her teeth. To appease him, she took a big bite and chewed. Satisfied, Castle offered one to Reggie, who was much more enthusiastic than Beckett, and then took one out for himself.

"Can I ask you a question?" Beckett said after a long beat of silence, having finished her protein bar in a quick series of bites. She shifted in her seat to stare back at Castle. "I'm curious, did you know I was stationed down here before or after the FBI asked you to consult on this case?"

He batted his eyelashes at her, giving her a sheepish look. "I knew before," he confessed, attempting for a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "When I heard about the murder, I sort of volunteered." He ducked his head down, and released a breath, forcing on a smile. "It's been two years, Kate. I just...," he trailed off and sighed. "God, this probably sounds pathetic, but I just had to see you again."

Beckett pursed her lips, swallowing down the rising tide of emotion that was rising up. Her heart seized at the raw sincerity in his voice. Now she felt like an asshole for running away and cutting almost all ties with her former life. Yet, despite that, she couldn't deny the way her pulse quickened and breath hitched when Castle looked at her, or what she saw in his eyes when he did. He had to feel the same. If Reggie wasn't here, and they didn't have a killer to catch, she'd confess everything to him, apologize and hope he would forgive her for all her faults and sins.

"I missed you too, Rick," Beckett said instead, making sure to use his first name so that he knew she was being serious. They rarely ever called each other by their given names. Swallowing the emotion, she shifted back to her original question. "So… um… how'd you know? About me being down here?"

"Jim… er… your father," Castle answered, throat bobbing as he spoke. Her eyes flicked down, mesmerized by the motion. "We've become quite good friends, actually. He's kept all of us updated on how you've been doing."

"Yeah," she ducked her head down, feeling guilty. "I haven't really been great with keeping in touch with everyone."

"It's Lanie you should be most afraid of," Castle interjected with a smirk, eyes sparkling with mirth.

"So very true," Beckett found herself smiling. He always found a way to lighten the mood. "How is he? My Dad?"

"Jim?" Castle raised his eyebrows. "He's good. Still practicing law. He started teaching on the side at a community college over the summer, and continued with it during the fall. He likes it. I think he'll eventually give up his practice and teach full time."

In all her communications with her father, he had never mentioned that. Beckett tried to hide her surprise, but failed. "He never told me that."

"Really?" Castle frowned. "Odd." A strange look passed over his face, thoughtful and worried. However, he soon shook it off. "He hasn't made a decision yet, so maybe he didn't want to say anything until it was all official," he offered with a shrug. "We have him over at the loft twice a month for dinner. We team up against Mother and Alexis on game nights. It's nice to have a partner. Your Dad is quite skilled at Pictionary; did you know that? Mother and him bicker over baseball. She just doesn't understand it. Plus, I think she just enjoys messing with him."

A part of her heart clenched with an unexpected feeling as Castle continued to ramble on about all the things Jim Beckett did with the Castle family. It was almost unbelievable, hearing that her calm and collected father was spending time at the loft, trading barbs with Martha Rodgers over evening meals, and participating in family activities such as game night. She felt an odd mixture of guilt and joy. She was happy her father wasn't alone, that he had friends to keep him company while she was down here at the bottom of the world. But she felt guilty that she had missed sharing those experiences with him, and the Castles. If she hadn't run away, perhaps she would have been part of that. Maybe she would have been having more than just dinner and game nights at the loft. Hell, she might even be living there… if she hadn't run away.

"Um… that's nice to hear," Beckett forced out, working past the lump in her throat. She wanted to thank him— _kiss him_ —for making her dad part of his family. Castle, of course, noticed the unspoken emotions fluctuating across her face, but he was kind enough not to mention it. He was a good man. If he still loved her, she didn't deserve him. Beckett shifted in the seat. "How's Martha?"

"She opened an acting studio," he told her. "Loves every minute of it. Even put on a one woman show."

"That's great," Beckett enthused, sorry she missed that. She had missed so much.

He cocked his head to the sign, half chuckling. "She still drives me crazy, but I love her."

"You're a good son, Castle," she asserted, locking eyes with him. Feeling the strong pull to say more than she was ready for, Beckett quickly changed lanes. "And Alexis?"

"Great! Graduated valedictorian, top of her class," Castle's whole face brightened up at the mention of his daughter. He practically beamed with paternal pride. "She's attending Stanford now," he went on, always the proud father. "She'd been debating going into law or studying medicine, but I think her time with Lanie helped make up her mind. She's going to be a doctor."

"Time with Lanie?" Beckett questioned, brow wrinkled, confused.

"Oh, right, I forgot, you weren't there for that," he grimaced slightly, flashing her an apologetic look. She shook it off. He didn't have to apologize. "During her senior year, she interned with Lanie for a couple months. I was against it, not wanting her to be around so much death, but she's tough, told me if I could walk crime scenes with you, then she could assist a medical examiner. And while she might not want to cut up dead bodies for a living, the work intrigued her, and she decided she wanted to heal people and help them live better lives."

"You must be very proud of her," Beckett said, already seeing it in his eyes.

"I am," he said, still beaming. "Sometimes I can't believe she's mine, you know? So smart and mature, ready to take on the world. I don't know where she gets it."

"Oh, I don't think that's too hard to believe," Beckett insisted, reaching back with her right hand to pat his knee. "Don't sell yourself short, Castle. You're a great father. Alexis is a very lucky girl."

"I'm lucky," he insisted. "Not every parent has a daughter as level-headed as Alexis."

Beckett grinned, inclining her head in agreement, thinking of her wild teen years. She recalled her mother's reaction to her grunge rocker boyfriend and the time she got her tattoo. And then there was her father's constant heart palpitations over her riding a motorcycle through downtown… with the previously mentioned boyfriend.

"Remembering your misbegotten youth, Beckett?" Castle inquired with a mischievous waggle of his eyebrows.

"Oh, the stories I could tell you, Castle," she quipped back with a playful quirk of her lips.

"Anytime, anywhere, I'm all ears, Marshal Beckett," he grinned back, meeting her gaze.

A faint beeping noise emanated from the GPS unit mounted on the dashboard.

Reggie cleared his throat and glanced over at them. "I hate to break up the verbal foreplay, but I think we're here."

XXX

Beckett tugged her parka tighter around her slim frame as she climbed down the caterpillar treads and onto the frozen ground. Castle followed her, doing likewise, bracing himself against the chill from the invisible wind. Reggie let out a series of profanities, and tugged at his beanie, shifting it around to cover his ears. It was much colder out here than either one of them had been expecting. Beckett stepped away from the snowcat. The two men shadowed behind her, glancing about at the flat, frozen desert surrounding them. She narrowed her eyes, scanning the ice with a cool appraisal.

"You sure this is the right place?" Castle questioned, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets.

"Section 104," Beckett asserted with a nod. "According to the GPS unit in the snowcat, these are the coordinates."

"I don't see anything," Castle said, shaking his head as he slowly spun around, giving the field of ice one more visual survey.

Reggie shivered, hugging himself. "Maybe you wrote them down wrong?" he supplied.

She had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes it almost hurt. She gave him a sidelong look, and he shrugged. Ignoring them, Beckett walked further away from the snowcat. Her gut was telling her that this was the place. The _Delta One One_ team had spent seven days out here, when they'd barely spent one day mapping two other grid sections. There had to be something here. Pumping her legs, Beckett continued, hiking along for a minute or two, sure that Castle was not far behind. The ice crunched under her boots as she kept her eyes peeled, searching for anything.

The sharp wind snapped at her cheeks, and she shivered. She wrapped her arms around herself, and stomped her feet, trying to warm her body. That was when she looked down. Something was not right. Frowning, she knelt down and scooped up some of the loose ice with her gloved right hand. She wiggled her fingers, watching as the small flecks of ice scattered into the wind as she held her hand up.

Castle stopped beside her, wearing a perplexed expression, and folded his arms across his chest, slightly cocking his head as he watched. "What is it, Beckett?"

"This is shaved ice," she stated, eyes widening at the realization.

"I don't understand," Castle said.

Beckett got back up to her feet. She walked further along, now paying closer attention to the texture of the ice. After a dozen steps in the opposite direction, the texture changed. The ice was not smooth—like it was supposed to be. Spinning back around, Beckett squinted, and paced back the way she came, trying to see the bigger picture. Arching her neck, she stared down at the field of ice all around them.

"Beckett?" Castle called, growing increasingly confused.

"Shh," she held up a hand to stop him. "I'm thinking."

He stopped, mouth half open in a retort. Closing his mouth, he pursed his lips and glanced down at the ground, trying to see what she saw.

"It's like you always said, Castle," Beckett said. "It's more than just the facts. There's the story."

"The story?" he repeated, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Beckett, I'm not following. What are you talking about?"

"Digging," she blurted, turning to him, meeting his startled gaze. "They were digging, Castle. And they tried to spread the ice to hide it." She swept her arms wide, as if doing so would get him to see it. A large area around them had been blanketed with shaved pieces of ice a few inches thick.

His eyes lit up when he made the realization. Her heart seemed to sing with joy when she saw him make the connections. It was thrilling, having him alongside her once again. She felt energized. A roguish grin slowly spread across Castle as he stalked around in a circle, taking it all in. He stopped a few meters away from her.

"A cover-up," he declared, waggling his eyebrows. "Literally."

She bit down on her lower lip, trying in vain to keep the laughter from spilling out. It had been two years since she'd seen him, but it was almost as if no time had passed. She had many regrets, chief amongst them being how she handled her relationship—or rather lack thereof—with Richard Castle. There was so much she would do differently if given the chance. She vowed to do better in the future.

Shaking her head, Beckett did a little pirouette, redirecting herself towards the snowcat. Her mouth stretched in a happy grin, so wide her cheeks almost hurt. The situation was not ideal, but he was here. They were together again. She felt the flutter in her stomach, knowing that in spite of the obstacles, they would overcome them. Because that's what all the great love stories were about, right? Overcoming great obstacles?

Beckett took a step forward.

And then everything went wrong.

It was like a rug had been pulled out from under her. She pitched forward and her legs flailed as she fell. She reacted as quick as she could, curling her fingers into hooks and groping at the edge of the ice shaft. The momentum of her fall was cut short, and her body jerked, slamming against the hard ice wall.

She hissed out a breath as the scar along her side pulled, sending a jolt of white hot pain through her body.

"Beckett!" Castle screamed.

"Don't move!" she shouted back, arching her neck to look down. It looked like it went on forever. She could see nothing but darkness below her. The ice shaft sloped at a slight angle. That fact was the only reason why she'd been able to stop her fall. She clung to the edge of the hole with both hands, desperate and stubborn.

Despite her command, Castle inched forward, taking cautious and hesitant steps. His brow was set in a determined expression, but his eyes were wide with a wild panic that was mirrored in the jackhammering beat of her heart. Her fingers shook violently, aching from the strain. Beckett gritted her teeth, struggling against the pain in her left hand, trying to maintain her grasp on the rim of the hole.

When he got closer, Castle dropped to his knees, lying flat on his stomach as he started to crawl towards her.

"Castle," she cried out, fighting against the fatigue and agony.

"Beckett," he called back. "Hold on. I'm coming!"

She squeezed her eyes shut, working through the pain. She kicked her legs out under her, searching for purchase but finding nothing but slick ice. Her shoulder and arm muscles started to protest. She tried to adjust, but it was futile.

"Castle, I'm slipping!"

"Hold on, Beckett. I'm almost there."

Her left hand felt numb, useless, and her fingers seized up, causing her to lose her grip. She let out a cry as she felt ice slide under the fingertips of her other hand as gravity grabbed a hold of her and pulled her down. She heard Castle scream her name as she was swallowed up by the darkness.


	16. Chapter 15

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 15**_

* * *

"Kate!"

Everything ached.

" _Stay with me, Kate!_ "

Her chest hurt.

" _I love you. I love you, Kate_."

Beckett's eyes fluttered open, and she groaned, shifting against the hard surface where she had landed. Raising her right hand, she gently rubbed at the spot on her chest, flashbacks from her shooting still sharp and vivid in her mind. Castle was calling her name from up above, his voice resonating down through the ice shaft, the reverberations highlighting the tinge of panic in the rich baritone of his voice. Reaching up with one hand, Beckett pushed herself up into a sitting position and narrowed her eyes, glancing around the darkness. Only a pale glow bounced off the gleaming ice walls of the crevasse she'd fallen down. Squinting, she raised her hand and tilted her head back to stare up. She could just barely make out the circular orifice.

"Beckett, are you okay!?" Castle shouted down. "Kate!"

"I'm fine!" she shouted back, pleased her voice didn't betray the way her whole body ached from the fall, maintaining a firm and strong countenance.

"Thank God," she heard him say. "Reggie's going for a rope. Stay put, Kate. Don't try and move."

She bobbed her head, even though she knew he could see her. Grunting and groaning, Beckett heaved herself up onto wobbly legs. She paused for a moment, hand on her side, and breathed in slowly, finding her balance. Her left hand had stopped throbbing. It was more numb than anything else. And that worried her. She chewed her lower lip, trying not to think about it as she dug her flashlight out of her side pocket. Thumbing the button, a beam of light shot out from the small device, illuminating a small dug out area.

Beckett frowned, and glanced up, shining her light back up the ice shaft. Her brow rose as she noticed the indication to tool markings. "Well, I'll be…," she mumbled out loud. The ice shaft had not been a natural formation. It was man made, just like this small cavern.

Turning slowly in place, Beckett scanned her surrounding, stopping when her eyes alighted on an escape hatch of some kind, maybe three feet from the ground. She glanced down, sweeping the beam of light around her feet. The ground beneath her was metal.

A noise above redirected her attention. Sweeping around, she watched as a sturdy climbing rope tumbled down the ice shaft. Moments later Castle's voice echoed in her ears.

"I'm coming down."

She decided to wait. Stepping back, she made room for him. Grunt and huffing, Castle carefully rappelled down the tunnel of ice until he was there. His face was wild and eyes filled with panic as he grabbed her, wrapping her up in a fierce hug. It nearly caused all her breath to expel from her lungs. But she accepted it, reciprocating, draping her arms around his broad frame and resting her head against his shoulder, finding the embrace comforting. It was nice. When he pulled back, he kept a hold of her arms, desperate blue eyes roaming over her, searching for injuries.

"Are you all right?" he asked, concerned.

"I'm fine."

"Kate…"

"I'm fine, Castle," she assured him, squeezing his bicep with her right hand and smiling softly. Jerking her chin, she gestured towards the escape hatch. "I think we discovered what they found."

Moving away from Castle, Beckett grabbed at the handle, twisting and pulling. It opened easily, far more than she had been expecting. Castle frowned, retrieving his own flashlight and flicking it on. He directed the beam inside and marveled at what they had quite literally stumbled upon buried deep in the ice.

"An airplane!" he exclaimed.

A second later, Reggie appeared, carrying with him two backpacks. His feet landed a little too hard on the ground, causing a metallic bang to echo around them.

"Holy shit! What was that?" he cried, swiveling his head around in a jerky, anxious motion.

"I think it's the wing," Beckett said, stomping her boot against the ground, drumming out several clanging beats.

"This is so cool," Castle enthused, a little too eagerly.

"Hold it there, Indy," she said, grabbing the back of his jacket, and giving it a slight tug, to prevent him from climbing through the opened hatch. "We don't know if the structure is sound." Stepping forward, she flicked her flashlight up and peaked through the hatch.

"Well?" Castle asked, impatiently, behind her.

"Looks okay," she answered quietly, lifting a leg up to climb through the opening.

"She always has to go first," she heard Castle mutter to Reggie.

She pursed her lips, but was unable to stop the smirk. Rotating around, Beckett directed her light back on the hatch entrance so the other two could find their footing while climbing through the opening.

Castle had taken one of the backpacks from Reggie, and slung it over his shoulders. He swept his flashlight out, illuminating the interior. Every surface scintillated with ice crystals from the frozen atmosphere, undisturbed except for the recent tracks of footprints filing in and out.

"I'd say it's a safe bet our guys were down here," Beckett commented, directing her flashlight beam along the line of footprints.

Castle followed her, of course he did. She could almost feel him at her back. His concern radiating off him. It was sweet. And she'd find a way to thank him properly, once they'd talked and figured some other things out. There was so much she wanted to do with him—to him—but the circumstances weren't ideal for such things, yet.

"Looks like cargo plane," he said, the light from his flashlight revealing piles of boxes and containers scattered at odd angles.

"It's an Antanov-74," Reggie said from further back, his voice bouncing off the cargo bay's wide chamber. "Russian made—late 50s. No one's put these in the air for forty years."

Castle stopped as his flashlight uncovered a body. "Beckett?"

She nodded, and walked forward, maneuvering around the debris. Kneeling down, she examined the corpse. "Not one of ours," she said. "Been down her too long." She recognized the Cyrillic lettering on the flight uniform. Soviet. "Probably died on impact."

Pushing up to her feet, Beckett continued on. The plane was pitched up at the nose, making their footing precarious. She shuffled along, mindful of her steps, working her way up towards the cockpit. Sliding past a container, she felt something brush against her leg. Spinning around, Beckett pointed the flashlight down, illuminating a hand, fingers curled in a clawed position, as if in excruciating pain. She whipped her light past the hand, up the arm, and captured the face of a man staring at her. The dark globes of his eyes reflected back at her, dead. He was pinned between two large metal crates, crushed. She squinted, staring at his contoured face, locked in a mask of horror and agony.

Herrera. She recognized the thin face, dusted with fine hair along his jaw.

"Beckett?" Castle questioned.

"Daniel Herrera," she told him. "Guess that makes four."

"Who's left?"

"Annalise Bettis and Scanlon Fegetter," Beckett answered. She looked back at Herrera, face grim. "He wasn't murdered. This looks more like an accident."

Castle moved past her. "Let's check out the cockpit."

Beckett bobbed her head, but hesitated, arching her neck to glance back at Reggie. The man's dark face was practically concealed in the darkness engulfing them. "Reggie?" she called out.

"Just… so many bodies," he said, the light from his flashlight shaky as he scanned it along the other side of the cargo bay, revealing flight crewmembers who'd died from the violent impact.

She maneuvered her way around the twisted metal and debris to stand beside him. "You okay?" she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer some comfort. Seeing death was nothing new to Castle and her, but that wasn't the same for their pilot.

He shook his head. "No," he answered honestly.

"It's all right," she sighed, giving his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze.

Beckett worked her way back up the scattered and broken containers, gripping the edge of one for leverage as she hauled herself up into the cockpit. Castle held his flashlight up above his head, illuminating the small room. Frozen blood was splattered across the shattered windshield, chunks of ice protruding through it. The pilot and co-pilot were still strapped into their seats, their broken bodies and ghastly expressions perfectly preserved. Each have a sidearm holstered around their waist.

"This place feels haunted," Castle said in a soft voice.

She could only nod. Gently, she placed a hand on his arm, offering him what support she could.

"Let's check out the cargo area," she said, helping by redirecting his focus to the case. "See if we can find what Tallis and his team found interesting down here."

Castle inclined his head, and ducked back down out of the cockpit first. Beckett remained for a moment, glancing down at the pilots, noting that one was missing his sidearm from his waist holster. Her eyes narrowed as she mulled over the discovery. She did not like what theories popped into her head.

She was pleasantly surprised to find out Castle had waited for her. He held up a hand, offering her his assistance. Normally she would have been stubborn and refused, but considering the situation and her injuries, Beckett decided it wouldn't hurt to accept help. Clasping his hand with hers, she carefully climbed down out of the cockpit, and together they weaved through the tumbled boxes and containers to rejoin Reggie in the center of the cargo bay. He had found some modern battery powered lanterns, probably brought down by the _Delta One One_ team, and had turned them on, providing them with enough light to do a proper search.

"What are we looking for?" he asked.

"Most of this stuff is covered in a thin film of ice," Beckett said. "We're looking for something that looks like it was recently handled or moved."

"Okay," he bobbed his head, and turned back to look over some upturned boxes.

Beckett scanned the bay, trailing her flashlight beam along the thick wall of nylon webbing that ran along one side. Continuing down, she saw a pile of ransacked ECW gear strewn over the tangle of ropes and crampons along the webbing, all of it outdated equipment for Antarctica. Turning back around, she watched Reggie dipped down and picked something up out of a box.

"What is that?"

Reggie almost grinned. "Vodka."

Beckett pursed her lips, and continued through the hold, moving to catch up with Castle, who was near the back of the plane. Her flashlight beam flickered over more chaos of the crash. Two huge steel storage tanks took up most of the mid-section. She squeezed past them, spotting Castle staring down at something on the floor.

"Castle?" she called.

He flinched at the sound of her voice, jerking back to look at her, eyes wide like saucers. Pointing with his flashlight, he revealed another body. This one laid on its side, half curled in a fetal position, cradling the belly. There wasn't a film of ice covering it, making it fresh. Beckett recognized the color of the parka; red, like hers, which indicated an American.

"Annalise?" Castle inquired, voice thick.

Beckett reached and tugged the hood down, revealing the pretty face of Annalise Bettis. She nodded, lips flat. The woman wasn't smiling anymore. Shifting, Beckett examined the body, trailing her light along the torso and stomach. "She was shot," she observed, recognizing the trauma to the midsection as multiple GSWs. Pulling back, her flashlight revealed a pool of dried blood around Bettis. "That leaves Scanlon Fegetter. He has to be our man. He's the only one left."

"Wait… did you say she was shot!?" Castle questioned, his brow wrinkled in confusion. "I don't understand. Guns aren't allowed down here. And I know, I asked. Wanted to bring one, just in case, but the FBI wouldn't let me have one."

"I have one," Beckett said, standing up, unzipping her parka, and parting it to show off the Glock strapped to the side of her hip.

Castle gazed at her, eyes drifting over the weapon secured in her hip holster, humming approvingly. "You know, that's kind of hot."

Beckett scoffed. Typical. _Leave it to Castle_ , she thought. Still, she smirked all the same, receptive to his appreciative glance. It was nice having him look at her like that. She had almost forgot how empowering it was, knowing she could so easily garner his attention. "Only authorized personnel such as law enforcement are allowed to carry," she informed him.

"But _I am_ law enforcement," he insisted with a boyish pout.

"I don't think that it includes consultants," she commented with a dry expression, offering him one of her infamous looks and an eye roll for good measure.

He batted his eyelashes and shrugged his shoulders. "I thought it was worth a try," he asserted. "Carrie let me have a gun."

"Carrie!?" she raised her eyebrows, glancing at him with large eyes. Much to her chagrin, her voice had raised an octave. She tried to regain some control before she spoke it again, but failed. "Who's Carrie?"

Castle merely grinned in response. "The FBI agent I worked with," he elaborated. "Carrie Stetko."

"You write a book about her too?" she groused, disappointed in herself the moment the words left her mouth. She was better than that. Still, it didn't stop the twist in her stomach, or the clench of her heart.

"No," he blinked, surprised by the question. "Why would you think that?"

It was her turn to shrug. "I don't know," she went for nonchalant, but failed miserably. "Isn't that your thing?" It was mean, and she knew it, but she just hadn't been expecting that news. It almost felt she had just been sucker punched.

Castle narrowed his eyes, and licked his lips. Her gaze drifted down at the motion. Slowly, his lips curved into a smug smirk, and his eyes twinkled with delight from what he saw in her face.

"Are you jealous, Marshal Beckett?" he asked in that damn smooth voice of his, far too pleased with himself for her liking.

However, before she could respond, they were interrupted by Reggie. It was probably a blessing in disguise, because Beckett wasn't sure her response would have been wise.

"I found something," he said, then stopped short, glancing between them, and then down at the body. "Oh shit, another one." He groaned. "Man, I've gotta stop hanging around you."

XXX

Reggie led the way back past the two lopsided storage tanks. Beckett grumbled to herself as Castle took up the rear. She was still processing the information he had just revealed about him teaming up with some hot FBI agent. All right, she didn't know what Carrie Stetko looked like, but knowing Castle, she was probably attractive. Beckett hated the idea that in her absence she'd been replaced by a newer model. It was definitely a blow to her ego. Still, even if she had been replaced, which she didn't really know yet, it was her own fault for leaving in the first place.

With a shake of her head, she stomped ahead, followed Reggie back towards where they'd found Herrera's crushed body pinned between two large metal containers. It was going to be a hell of a job for the team that had to come back and retrieve the bodies.

"Right here," Reggie said, lifting his flashlight up to shine the beam along a heavy steel cage welded into the airframe.

Beckett frowned, and rapped the butt of her flashlight against it. A metallic clang echoed throughout the cargo hold. It was incredibly strong. Yet the cage had been breached, the bars sawed off using a high-grade industrial cutter. They would have had something like that at the camp. She narrowed her eyes. Inside the cage was a steel safe. And it was open.

"How'd we missed this the first time?" she said aloud, not really asking anyone.

Reggie bent down and picked up the edge of a tan tarp. "This was covering it," he explained. "I wouldn't have given it a second look, but you mentioned that thing about ice coating everything, and this thing looks brand new." He gestured back the way they'd came. "Behind…," he had to pause, swallowing hard. "Behind the body, those were fuel tanks. This plane was outfitted for long range capabilities."

She nodded. "And by the looks of that safe, must've been transporting something pretty important." Letting out a breath, she moved her legs, high stepping over the scattering of discarded tools and metal bars. As she slipped past the breach, she ran her fingers along the cool steel. It was clear that part of the damage had happened during the crash, which had created a weakness that had been ruthlessly attacked when the camp team had found the cargo plane.

Castle followed behind her, ducking his head as he entered the cage. "The Soviets put some serious work into this thing."

There was a pool of frozen blood near the opening, near one of the torn, jagged bars of the steel cage that was smeared with blood.

"Casey Beckcom," Beckett said, thinking of the woman she'd found in back in the _Delta One One_ camp. "She'd injured her leg. Broken it. This might have been where it happened."

"So, what?" Castle said, brow furrowing. "They drag her back and then kill her?"

"The theory fits," she said.

"But the story doesn't," Castle added, meeting her eyes. "There's always a story."

"I know," she answered, returning his gaze.

Tugging her eyes away from his, unable to stop her heart from quickening a few beats at the way he looked at her, Beckett approached the opened safe. Using her flashlight, she dipped her head down and examined the interior more closely. The frost on the shelves exposed six round rusted rings where cylinder shaped containers had been removed. Judging from the imprint, each one had roughly measured a foot tall and four inches wide.

But before she could scrutinize it any further, the entire cargo plane shuddered without warning. Beckett stumbled, losing her balance, falling back into Castle. He let out a startle breath, catching her.

"What was that?" he questioned.

The muffled roar of a diesel engine could barely be heard.

"The snowcat!" Beckett shouted.

Her cry was followed by the unmistakable crackle and crash of falling ice. Her eyes went wide. Getting her feet back under her, she turned and shoved Castle.

"Go!"

He obeyed immediately, scrambling back out of the cage, with her right on his tail. Having guessed what was happening, Reggie was already booking it for the escape hatch they'd entered through. Beckett waved Castle on when he paused to see if she needed any help. She was fine for now, adrenaline had kicked in. The flashlight beams swung wildly about the hold as they scrambled over the debris in their mad rush. Beckett already feared the worse, but she was never one to give up, even when the odds were stacked against her.

Ahead of them, Reggie reached the hatch, but just as he did, a load of ice and snow dropped in with an almost deafening sound, covering it completely. The dim light that had filtered in from the hatch opening faded until it was completely gone.

"Son of a bitch!" Reggie cried, jumping back, barely avoiding getting covered in the spill over.

Above them, the continual sound of falling snow and ice grew muffled and distant. Beckett blew out a breath, and glanced at Castle, who stared back at her with a look she hadn't seen since they'd been trapped in that shipping container. It seemed almost apropos that she remembered that now. This situation wasn't all too dissimilar.

"Kate?" Castle asked, pleading.

"Yeah," she groaned, brushing her hair back from her face, already feeling the temperature start to drop. "I know."


	17. Chapter 16

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 16**_

* * *

Things were getting desperate as a single flashlight, propped up on a crate, illuminated all three of them as they worked hard, frantically chopping away at the ice filled hatch with pieces of scrap metal they had found in the debris scattered throughout the cargo plane. The effort was big, but the progress was minimal. Beckett could hear the pulse of her heart in her ears, and her breath fogged out in front of her face with each swing. Little bits of ice flew up all around her after every strike, yet she felt like they weren't even making a dent.

Sighing, she sat back and dropped the twisted piece of metal she'd been using to pick away at the ice. "This isn't going to work," she said, unable to keep the defeated tone from her voice. "It's like digging through concrete with a spoon." She paused for a breath, shivering as she felt cold sweat trickle down her back. "We're going to suffocate before we get out. With the three of us down here," she pursed her lips, brow set, and ran the numbers through her head, "I give us twelve, fifteen hours at most."

Reggie looked at her with the intensity of a trapped animal. "No way. I'm not going out like this. No way!"

Castle gazed over at her with a stunned expression, eyes large and expressive. "I don't believe what I'm hearing," he all but whispered. "You can't give up, you of all people."

She shrugged, feeling beat, dropping her eyes to avoid his. "I'm sorry, Castle. I don't know what to say."

He shook his head, refusing to listen. He stomped over and got in her face. "That's not Kate Beckett," Castle insisted. "Kate Beckett doesn't back down. She doesn't let go. She hits a wall, and she plows right through it." He paused for a breath, flush with emotion. "That's what makes you extraordinary."

Her breath hitched and her eyes flicked up to meet his. Hazy memories floated around in her head as she recalled the first time he'd said that to her, and then seeing that same word describing her in the dedication of _Heat Wave._

 _To the extraordinary KB_.

She shook her head, sad and dejected.

"That's not me anymore," she nearly sobbed out, the emotions overpowering her.

"Yes, it is!"

"No," she stood, hands clenching into fists at her side. "I'm not that woman anymore." She paced away from him, tears threatening in her eyes. "That woman died on the operating table. She can't come back."

"Bullshit," Castle snarled, unwilling to back down.

She ground her teeth, spun around and glared at him, angry at his ability to call her out on things like no one else could. She had tried so hard to keep herself closed off from him, protect her heart. But he'd managed to weasel his way in, despite all her best efforts.

"You don't know me, Castle," Beckett said, rounding on him with a heated glare. "You think you do, but you don't." She crossed her arms. Why was it that they always seemed to have the same fight over and over?

"Two years. And this again?" he scoffed, barking out an indignant laugh. "Really, Kate, that's how you wanna play this? Do I even need to respond? You already know what I'm going to say."

She huffed, blowing out a hot breath of air. "All right, _Rick_ ," she conceded, making a cruel point to spit out his first name. It was unnecessarily mean, but her emotions were running high and she couldn't control it. "I hide. I run away. And that's what I did. I was shot in the chest. I nearly died. I should have died. But I didn't. So, yeah… I ran. I got scared. I'm allowed to be afraid, Castle. You don't know what it's like, how consuming it can be. I remember every second of it. And I needed a damn therapist to help me work through it. To accept everything that happened that day. And I tried, God help me, Castle… I tried. But at the end of those three months, I just couldn't. I was still a freaking mess. I was fucking broken."

She pounded her fist against her chest, feeling her scars sing with the reminder.

"So, yeah… I left," she admitted, shrugging her shoulders, continuing on before he could get a word in. "I could have handled it differently— _should_ have handled it differently—but you know what, I can't change the past. No one can. It happened, and I have to live with the consequences. It was the hardest thing I ever did, but I couldn't be there, be the cop I was, when I was so broken, confidence in tatters. Damn it, Castle, every time I go to sleep that day— _that awful day_ —just replays in my mind, over and over. It won't go away, no matter how far I run. I can't fix it. I just relive it again and again, remembering every second." She paused for a quick breath, shaking her head. "Do I like it? Hell, no. But I can't wave a magic wand and be better. I wish I could. God, Castle, you don't know how much I wish I could. But I can't. I can't be more than this. This… this is who I am."

Finished, she simply stared back at him with a defiant and challenging glare, her chest rising and falling as she heaved in deep breaths. The scar along her side pulled tightly, but she ignored it. The scar between her breasts, however, throbbed in a dull reminder of what she survived. And that one was harder to ignore.

Castle stood there mutely for about a minute after she'd finished her tirade. He raised a hand and shook his head. "Wait a minute, did you say you remembered every second of it?" he quoted her back.

Beckett narrowed her eyes, thinking back on her words. And shit, yeah, she had said that. Pursing her lips, she swallowed, and shifted her footing, uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze. "Yes," she confirmed, albeit reluctantly. This was not how she'd wanted him to find out. "What of it?"

He growled, low and angry. It shamed her that she actually found it hot. "Two years, Kate," he said, eyes glaring hotly at her. "I can't believe you. The arrogant presumption."

"I'm sorry," she tried to apologize, it was all she could think to say, but he wasn't in the mood for it.

"So, let me get this straight," he pinched the bridge of his nose. "The last time we spoke before you just up and left, you lied to me. It was all a lie."

"Not all of it," she defended.

"Well that makes it all just fine then, doesn't it?" he snapped back. He glared at her, hot and angry. She'd never seen him so angry; so furious. If this were any other circumstance it would actually be kind of sexy.

Her eyes jerked anxiously over at Reggie, who'd been silently watching them. "Can we possibly have this conversation later."

"Later!?" he growled, glancing around the interior of the buried plane, shaking his head. "That's always it with you, isn't it? Always later. Always an excuse. Never now. Well you know what? Fuck that. Two years, Beckett. Two fucking years, and not even a word from you. I had to learn that you were okay through Jim." He inhaled sharply and fixed her with a heated glare. "I watched you die, did you know that? They had to resuscitate you in route to the hospital. Do you know what that's like… watching someone you love die?"

"I'm sorry," she meekly responded, not knowing what else to say. What else could she say to something like that? Her heart clenched with guilt and shame at hiding away, but it was what she'd needed, who she was. She couldn't change who she was, even for Richard Castle, the man she loved.

"Yeah, well, I've had two years to brood over it," he grumbled. "It's who you are. Who you will always be. And I've come to accept that. But… damn it, Beckett… all this time, you knew how I felt about you. Don't try to deny it. You knew. And all you did was lie to my face and then run away. How do you think that makes me feel?"

"Like shit," she barely squeaked out, feeling about the same. Her face crumbled and her bottom lip trembled in spite of her best efforts to control it. The emotions were just running too raw and high. It took everything that she was just to remain standing.

Castle's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her. "Sorry if this upsets you, but it's the truth," he ground out. "Fuck, even after two years, I can't help myself. I still love you. It's insane, but I do." He hissed out a breath. "The least you could have done was call," and then added, in a low grumble, "like you said you would."

Beckett swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry, Castle. Truly. But, I couldn't call you. Not without dragging myself into everything that I was just trying to get some space from. I needed some time to just work through everything. I never meant to hurt you." She licked her lips, her heart palpating wildly within her chest as she gazed back at him, pleading with him to understand.

"Um," Reggie cleared his throat, stepping between them. "As entertaining as your lovers spat is, could it wait until say… after we get out of here? I don't know about you two, but I'd prefer not to freeze or suffocate."

Castle was the first to avert his gaze. He turned to Reggie and bobbed his head, scrubbing a hand down his face as he stalked off to cool down. Beckett worked her jaw, trying to do the same. She didn't want to fight with Castle. Not now. Not when everything seemed so bleak. She wanted him to hold her in his arms, comfort and soothe her, like he had when they'd been trapped in that shipping container. Most of all, she wanted him to know the truth… not that she'd lied, but that she loved him too.

Sighing, Beckett rubbed her right hand over the center of her chest, attempting to ease the ache from the ill healed bullet wound and the emotional blow of their fight. She walked back to join Reggie.

"I'm sorry you had to hear all that," she said in a quiet voice, embarrassed. "As I said, Castle and I— _our history_ —it's complicated."

Reggie nodded, glancing off in the direction Castle had stalked off in. "I can see that," he said. "But hey, if he wasn't still so damn crazy about you, he wouldn't be that angry. That's something, isn't it?"

Beckett shrugged, uncertain. "I supposed." She just hoped that anytime they tried talking about it the conversation didn't dissolve into another argument. Talking had never really been one of their strong suits.

Pursing his lips, Reggie turned back to her. "Even though it was hard to think with you two shouting at one another, I did manage to think of something."

"Yes," she encouraged after seeing his hesitant look.

"What about the Vodka?" he put forth. "We could make some torches, maybe melt the ice?"

Beckett shook her head. "Fire will burn oxygen faster than we could breathe it."

"I'm willing to risk it, if you are," he offered with a shrug.

She opened her mouth to respond, but Castle's reappearance stopped her. He marched forward with purpose, digging his flashlight out of his pocket and shining it up at two lifejackets attached to the wall near the hatch. His brow was set in a determined look she'd seen before. He had an idea.

"What are you thinking, Castle?" she questioned, hope blossoming in her eyes while her heart thumped wildly beneath her breast, the lingering intensity of their argument still festering.

"All these planes used to have bail-out hatches, right?" he said, glancing at Reggie for confirmation.

The pilot looked puzzled. "We came through one," he gestured towards the pack of ice sloping in through the opened hatch.

"There's got to be more than one," Castle said. "Like a commuter plane."

"I don't know, man. I guess so," Reggie answered, shaking his head. "I know my planes, but I'm not a walking encyclopedia or anything."

But Castle wasn't listening, he was already walking off in another direction, swinging his flashlight around, searching. "There has to be more than one," he mumbled, mostly talking to himself.

Reggie followed him, grabbing the flashlight he'd left propped up earlier on the crates to illuminate the cargo bay as they dug. "My guess, it'd be on the ceiling in case of an ocean landing," he asserted, enthused by Castle's renewed energy.

Beckett couldn't help but smile to herself. Trust Castle to keep spirits lifted. He always had a knack for thinking out of the box. It was one of the many things that had made him such a good partner. Buoyed by Castle's refusal to give up, Beckett felt the embers of her resolve reignited. Retrieving her flashlight, she followed the pair, aiming her gaze up, searching the aircraft for another escape hatch.

Sweeping her light around the ceiling, she narrowed her eyes, trying to distinguish between the various curved support beams with other fixtures mounted along the fuselage. That was when she saw it.

"I found it!" she shouted.

Castle and Reggie jogged over to join her, both pointing their flashlights up to illuminate the escape hatch on the roof above them. She shifted her feet as Castle squeezed past her, brushing a hand along her shoulder as he did. She bit her lower lip, and ducked her head down, trying to stifle the smile.

"With the angle of the plane," Castle spoke excitedly, "I don't think we're that far from the surface." He turned to Reggie. "Give me a hand."

He quickly moved over to a large crate, and started to push it over. Beckett didn't wait to be invited, joining him and Reggie in sliding it over below the hatch. Castle placed a hand on her shoulder for leverage as he hoisted himself up onto the crate.

She grunted at the unexpected weight, but refused to object to him touching her in anyway, especially after their fierce row. If circumstances were different, she'd imagine after having such a fight, they would have pretty hot make-up sex. She gritted her teeth and shook her head, silently chiding herself for letting her imagination run amok while they were still trapped. _Later_ , she told herself, _you can fuck his brains out_.

Standing on the crate, Castle craned his neck back, directing his flashlight up at the hatch above. Beckett squinted to see if she could make out what he was looking at.

"These explosive bolts?" he asked, indicating four small red cylinders surrounding the hatch.

"Looks like it, yeah," Reggie concurred from below.

"If we blow the hatch, maybe it'll smash a hole up through the ice," Castle reckoned.

Hating to be the lone pessimist in the room, Beckett shook her head. "Or, if the ice is too thick, the blast will come right back at us."

Castle let out a low chuckle, and glanced down at her with a small smile and bemused expression. "Always the pessimist, eh, Beckett?"

She shrugged. "I like to think of myself as a realist," she defended, then looked at him and grinned, her smile reaching her eyes. "Besides, you have enough optimism for both of us."

"That I do," he agreed, jumping back down to join them on the floor of the cargo bay. He looked back and forth between them. "So, we have three options," he said, indicating each with a finger. "We can be blown up, suffocate, or freeze to death. Take your pick."

All three of them lowered their heads to think upon it.

"It'll work," Reggie decided, looking hopeful. "Let's do it."

Beckett didn't exactly have his optimism of success, but it beat the alternatives. She'd already nearly frozen to death once before, and it wasn't an experience she cared to repeat. Locking eyes with Castle, she nodded her consent to the insane plan.

"Good," Castle grinned, beaming with confidence Beckett wished she shared. And then he shrugged, eyes alight with mirth. "If it doesn't work, at least we'll go out in a blaze of glory."

Beckett groaned and rolled her eyes. "Shut it, Castle," she shoved him. He merely grinned back and waggled his eyebrows at her, cocky bastard. In truth, she admired the way he was able to be so jovial in the face of certain death. It was one of the things that truly amazed her about the egotistical man-child she'd once called an irritating ride-along that she couldn't wait to get rid of. Funny, how it all worked out. Now she couldn't imagine her life without him.

Sobering, Castle climbed back up on the crate, once again using her shoulder for leverage. Her body tingled with the hint of arousal at the innocent touch. It was so absurd, but she assumed it was merely a result of all the near-death experiences she had experienced with him by her side that made it all seem so natural.

She flicked her tongue out to wet her lips, and watched as the author turned FBI consultant reached up and tugged at the electrical panel by the blasting caps. It popped off relatively easily. He arched his neck back, reaching up with one hand to shift around the crisscrossing maze of wires within.

"This could work," Castle nodded, certain. "I need a battery, though."

"I got it," Beckett said, unscrewing her flashlight and dumping the single D Duracell lithium battery out into her palm. She then grabbed the edge of the crate and hoisted herself up to stand next to Castle. His brow wrinkled adorably as he stared at her.

"Beckett, what are you doing?" he questioned, baffled by her action.

She shrugged, almost in a casual manner. "If this thing blows back on us," she explained in a calm and steady voice as if it wasn't any big deal, "I'd like to go out standing next to you."

He looked at her, mouth agape, speechless. She smiled at him, threading the fingers of her right hand through his, offering a reassuring squeeze as she passed the battery over him. Then she reached up and gently patted his cheek.

"Now get to work, Castle, before we freeze," she ordered.

Smirking back at her with that charming grin of his, Castle inclined his head. Beckett watched, astonished at Castle's technical knowledge as he ripped at the wires, using a pocketknife he'd retrieved from his pants pocket, to shed the coating and reveal the copper underneath.

He caught her looking and winked. "Research for Derrick Storm," he said, but neglected to explain more. "When I connect these two wires, hopefully there's going to be a big bang." Castle glanced over at her. "Last chance to take some cover."

"I'm not going anywhere," she asserted, locking eyes with him.

He smiled.

"Hell, me too," Reggie said, unintentionally hording in on their moment to stand with them in solidarity.

She bit back a chuckle as Castle grumbled something that sounded like, "Just like Ryan."

He stretched his arms up, one hand holding the battery for the charge. With a deft skill that impressed her, Castle maneuvered the wires around until he had constructed a makeshift trigger mechanism. She quirked up an eyebrow. Castle noticed and grinned.

"Makes you want me," he smirked delightedly, eyes sparkling with it.

Beckett rolled her eyes. "And there it is."

"You know you like it," he insisted.

She growled, and shook her head. "Just blow the damn hatch, Castle."

He chuckled, and flashed her a playful wink, before turning back to his work and turning serious. "Here goes nothing," he commented, and then touched the last wire to the battery, clenching his eyes shut in anticipation.

Beckett did the same. She curled her arm around his waist and nuzzled into his side, inhaling deeply of his masculine scent. All Castle. If these were to be her last moments, then she wanted them to be with him.

Nothing happened.

Opening her eyes, Beckett furrowed her brow and stared up at Castle expectantly.

"Um… let's try this again, shall we?" he said, adding a little nervous chuckle.

Beckett buried her head against his shoulder, holding onto him as tightly as she could. Castle repeated the action—

BOOM!

The roof hatch exploded, shooting upwards and through the ice and snow like a bullet. Chips of ice sprayed down on them like rain, dissipating quickly to allow bright sunlight to filter down. All three of them stared up in wonder, blinking in the sudden light. The edge of the hole created by the exploding hatch wasn't that far. Castle had been right about the angle of the plane.

A second later, all three of them were cheering with jubilant joy. Beckett stared at Castle as he turned to her, and soon found herself wrapped up in his arms. She sighed, overjoyed with the embrace. He squeezed her tight, and then pulled back, gazing at her with a look very similar to that one he wore right after he disarmed that dirty bomb by just pulling all the wires. Her heart skipped a beat as his eyes flicked down to her mouth. This time would be different, she thought.

This time he was going to kiss her.

But then Reggie was slapping Castle's shoulder and whooping with exhilaration. Castle stumbled a bit, unprepared for it. But he held her eyes with his for a moment longer.

"Ah man! You did it!" Reggie was crying with glee when Castle turned around to accept the man's praises.

Beckett stood there, watching, feeling the moisture of happy tears prickle at the inside of her eyes. Another miraculous escape from the icy claws of death. She gazed at Castle, her heart swelling with unspoken feelings. She had never met anyone like him. And she didn't think she ever would. He was unique. Special. Her partner. Her friend. Her always.

A smile bloomed across her face as a thought suddenly struck her, and she couldn't help but laugh, ignoring his quizzical look. And perhaps he was also her good luck charm.


	18. Chapter 17

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 17**_

* * *

Wiggling her butt, Beckett gritted her teeth and hauled herself up over the lip of the hole. Achieving lift, she then rolled over onto her back, gasping for air. Her heart pounded beneath her breast, and she blinked in the vast whiteness of the surface. She sat up, and watched as Castle tossed up the two backpacks, before hoisting himself up and over the edge, once again impressing her with his strength. Richard Castle was definitely a man full of surprises. And she looked forward to discovering all of him.

Once Castle crested the edge, he turned around and reached down to help Reggie up. All three of them then sat there on the hard ice, just grateful to have escaped what could have very easily become their tomb. Beckett stared up at the sky, scowling as she noticed dark clouds quickly moving in on the horizon. Another storm was approaching. She groaned, inwardly, that was exactly what they needed. The wind was howling and snarling like a wounded beast, not yet ready to surrender.

Castle got to his feet and offered her assistance. She accepted his hand.

"The snowcat!" Reggie exclaimed excitedly. "It's still here!"

He rushed towards the vehicle that was only about ten yards away from them. Beckett and Castle followed, though more mindful of the ice, not wanting to accidentally find another concealed crevasse. As they walked over to join the pilot, Beckett noticed a single set of deep grooves not far from where they had fallen in. A Twin Otter had been there. That explained the noises she'd heard earlier, just before the avalanche of ice and snow that had trapped them. She had mistaken those sounds for the snowcat's engines.

Beckett indicated the plane tracks to Castle, who nodded.

"Guess he didn't expect us to make it out of there," he commented.

She pursed her lips, contemplative. "Plane could've gone anywhere. There's forty-six countries here all counting down to winter-over. Fegetter could have gone anywhere."

"We'll get him, Kate," Castle assured, placing a hand on her shoulder, offering her a comforting squeeze. "You're the best detective I know."

"Even better than Agent Stetko?" she asked, almost bitterly. She wouldn't admit it, even later when pressed, but she was a little ashamed of her unnecessary jealousy.

He chose not to answer, which was probably for the best. Beckett shook her head and stared down at the tracks created by the landing skis attached to the plane. A sudden thought struck her. She released an audible gasp at the realization.

"What is it?" Castle asked, staring at her with a perplexed expression.

"I know why Cassaday was found so far from _Delta One One_?"

"Huh?"

She turned and looked back at Castle, unable to suppress the smile of triumph at finally discovering this one piece of evidence that had alluded her since the start of the investigation. "He was dumped from a plane."

"Sounds plausible," he agreed. "Your report said he was found in the middle of nowhere. And that his face was smashed in."

Beckett nodded. "To delay identification," she explained.

After a moment, Castle touched her shoulder. "We should get going," he said, jerking his chin towards the darkening horizon. "I don't like the look of those clouds."

"Right," she gritted out, turned to move, but then stopped. "Castle, about earlier…"

He shushed her. "I know," he told her meaningfully, gazing deep into her eyes. She pursed her lips and swallowed hard, silently acknowledging it. "Later," he continued, a promise. "After we get back to base, and you've got that hand looked at by the doctor, we'll talked more."

"Okay," she agreed, bobbing her head, offering him weak smile.

He nodded, returning the smile. "Let's go."

Together, they quickly walked to the front cab of the snowcat. She stepped aside as Castle climbed up ahead of her, and then turned around to help her.

Seated in the front passenger seat, Beckett worked the dial on the radio, hoping they were in range. She depressed the small button on the receiver. "ASB, this is Marshal Kate Beckett, do you read?" Only crackling static came from the transmitter. She glanced at Reggie and Castle, and then tried again, repeating the message. "This is Marshal Beckett, do you read me? Rhonda?"

Nothing again. Beckett snarled, frustrated, ready to slam the damn thing back into its cradle on the dashboard. But before she could, it crackled to life with the fiery lilt of the Amundsen-Scott Base station manager.

" _Where the hell are you!?_ " came Rhonda's pissed voice.

Beckett grinned. "Heading back," she said, not answering the question on purpose. The line was an open frequency, and she didn't know who could be listening. "How many fly-ins to McMurdo in the last four hours?"

" _You expect me to_ —"

"How many?" Beckett interrupted, in no mood for territorial displays of authority.

" _Fifteen_ ," Rhonda grumbled, sounding put out. She would mend fences with the Irish woman later.

"Christ, that many!?" she swore. "Fine. I'll need a list of names when I get back. Beckett out." And then she cut the transmission before Rhonda could respond.

Reggie frowned, sitting in the driver's seat. "You really think Fegetter might try to leave out of McMurdo?"

Beckett shrugged. "By now he knows I'm on to him," she explained. "Anything is possible. I want to eliminate his options." She massaged her injured hand, grimacing as she tried to stretch the fingers. She could feel Castle's eyes on her. She ignored him, turning to the pilot. "How long until we can get back to ASB?"

Reggie glanced at the GPS unit, and then checked the digital chronometer readout. "When we get back to the plane, I'll get ya there in forty minutes, Marshal." He worked the controls, and soon the snowcat's engines roared to life.

"What do you think they took out of the cargo plane?" Castle asked from the backseat as Reggie worked at getting the engine going.

"Canisters of some sort," Beckett answered, wrinkling her nose as she recalled the empty spaces inside the safe. "Something important enough to lock away."

"But what could the Russians have been transporting?" he said out loud, not really looking for an answer from anyone.

Beckett knew what he was doing—theory building. She bit her lip, appreciating it. "The Soviets were known for skirting around the Antarctic Treaty—hell, everyone did—so it could be anything."

"My guess," Castle said, pausing for dramatic effect. "Uranium."

" _Uranium_?" she repeated with a snort, arching her neck to glance back at him with a raised eyebrow, skeptical. "Why do you say that, Castle?"

"Okay, this might sound far-fetched, but—"

"That never stopped you before," she pointed out with a look.

"True," Castle bobbed his head, grinning back delightedly, his eyes alight with mirth. "We need the rest of the story to fill in the gaps, especially the why. Why kill Cassaday, Bettis, Tallis, and the rest? We need a motivation for Fegetter."

"I wouldn't argue with that," Beckett concurred. "It's always good to know motive."

"Greed," Castle snapped his fingers. "Simple greed."

Her brow wrinkled in thought. "Are you talking about those missing canisters?"

"Precisely, yes!" Castle gestured excitedly. "You see, before I found out about the first murder down here, Carrie—"

She narrowed her eyes at his use of the FBI agent's first name.

He pursed his lips and swallowed before continuing. "Agent Stetko was working a case involving some chatter about a black market trader in New York. Something about buying some misplaced Russian cache."

"Hate to break it to you, but that's not really news, Castle," Beckett interjected with a shake of her head. "Since the fall of the Soviet Union that's all too common."

Castle waved his hands wildly in a dismissive fashion. "Don't ruin my story with your logic," he insisted. She grinned at that, pleased to have their former banter back in place. "Just hear me out. At least I'm not saying anything about zombies… _yet_." He added a waggle of his eyebrows with that bit, making her roll her eyes.

"Zombies?" Reggie hooted in shock, glancing back to look at Castle with an odd expression, a mixture of bewilderment and horror.

"Ignore him, just drive," Beckett said.

"Easier said than done," Reggie murmured under his breath as he gripped the joystick and worked the levers, steering the snowcat in a wide circle until they were headed back towards the _Delta One One_ campsite.

"I'm not saying it's the case," Castle said. "But there has been rumors for years that the Soviets had a secret weapons facility under the ice that supposedly blew up in the late 60s. Though, nothing has ever been confirmed."

"You don't say," Beckett said with a grin, adjusting herself to get comfortable, ready and more than willing to indulge her former partner in his rambling tale of facts mixed with some wild speculation.

"The fact is, before the treaty in '72, they were strip mining all over the place down here," Castle went on, undeterred by the playful glare she shot him. She loved it that he just knew this stuff. However, she wouldn't be surprised if he had read up on the history of Antarctica during his travel time down here. "It was the Cold War. No one knows half the things the Russian's were up to. That plane could be the link between rumor and truth. And if it is true, what's in those canisters could potentially be a valuable commodity to whomever has them."

"It's all just conjecture at this point, Castle," she said with a sympathetic look. "Still, it's a pretty good theory."

"Missed my crazy ideas?" he asked with a smirk.

She shook her head, but smiled back. "Maybe," she replied, then turned serious. "But you are right about one thing?"

"Oh really? And do tell," he batted his eyelashes expectantly.

Beckett met his eyes, grim and sober. "Whatever is in those canisters was valuable enough to kill for."


	19. Chapter 18

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 18**_

* * *

It had ended up taking them an hour and change to get back to the South Pole. After some encouragement from Castle, Beckett had used some of that time to relax and take a brief nap. The darkening clouds were still looming on the horizon, but not as threatening as they had over the crash site. Still, another storm was coming, that much was clear, she just couldn't tell when it would arrive.

Beckett was pleased to see a Lockheed LC-130 still parked outside Amundsen-Scott Base when they landed. The tail section was open like the maw of a gigantic beast. A crew dressed in neon yellow parkas were in the process of loading it up. She hoped her request to temporarily halt all flights was still in effect. Castle obviously noticed her death glare, but wisely remained silent as they stalked past the large cargo plane. He stayed quiet as they walked up the entrance steps and through the front vestibule before heading inside the base.

A disgruntled look materialized over her features as soon as she shoved through the inner airlock. Her ears were greeted with the tropical ballads streaming out from the public address system. Colorful balloons littered the floor, and a banner—reading 'Winter Is Coming'—was strung up in the center of the main corridor.

"Great," she grumbled to herself as she pulled her gloves off and stuffed them in her pockets. "Just great. Another party."

She had been wishfully hoping that the crew and personnel station at ASB had already had their fill of partying, but apparently, she had been mistaken. When she spotted the delighted smirk working its way across Castle's lips, she jabbed his side with her elbow, earning a hurt look as he rubbed the abused spot. Pointedly ignoring it, she led the way down the corridor, knowing he'd follow her. Much to her annoyance, her left hand continued to throb with a dull aching pain. As she walked on, weaving through the revelers, Beckett cradled the hand closer to her chest.

"Beckett," Castle eyed her with concern. "You need to get that looked at."

"I know," she hissed out, displeased with the reminder. She hated looking weak, especially in front of him, even if such a mentality was foolish. Sighing, she glanced at him with a contrite expression, sorry for snapping at him. It was really sweet of him. And he only did remind her because he cared. "Sorry. I'll have the Doc take a peek when we're done," she promised in a soft voice, hoping that reassured him.

Castle opened his mouth to say more, but before he could get a word out, Oliver Simms waddled around the corner, nearly bumping into her. Beckett cursed, rubbing her injured hand with her right one, and gave the sub-station manager a withering look.

"Marshal, you're back," he wheezed, wiping the back of his hand across his sweat beaded forehead. He adjusted the hold on the duffel bag he was carrying. It looked like it had some weight to it, judging by the way his shoulder leaned into it. "Murphy's looking for you."

"Murphy?" she asked, nonplussed. "What the hell is he doing here?"

Simms shrugged. "Came in on the Lockheed."

Growling, Beckett snatched the two-way walkie-talkie off the utility belt that just barely fit around his plump middle.

"Hey," he snapped. "I don't turn that in, I have to pay for it."

Ignoring him, Beckett handed it to Castle. "I'll be on 30 if you need me," she told him. "Go grab my files on _Delta One One_. There should be a photo of Fegetter there. We need to put out an APB for him, alert all stations across the continent. I left the files with Dr. Marston. He should still be in the medical bay."

"And where's that?" Castle asked, switching the device to the channel she'd told him.

"Head up the stairs to level 2, and turned left," she directed, gesturing to the stairway ahead of them. "You shouldn't miss it. Room A220."

"And if he's not there?"

"Then head to my office and wait for me," she decided, and then was about to hurry away when he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Whoa, Kate… hold on," he said, laughing lightly. "I'm new here, remember? I haven't had a chance to find a map. For now, you gotta tell me how to get places."

"Sorry," she flashed him an apologetic look. She would freely admit now, that in the midst of an investigation, she had a tendency to get tunnel vision. "Stay of Level 2 and go across the umbilical connection to Building B, walk straight down the central corridor to the far end, take the last right, then another right, and you should be there. My office is near the operation center; Room B231."

"B231," he repeated with a nod. "And what will you be doing while I'm retrieving Fegetter's picture?"

Beckett glanced to Simms and then back at him. "Talking with Murphy," she stated, patting his arm with her right hand in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. She gave Simms one more glare, before sidestepping around the pudgy Brit and stalking down the corridor towards the catwalk tunnel connecting the two modules.

XXX

Beckett found the McMurdo base commander in the operations center. Sam Murphy and Rhonda Steward, the station manager, were standing next to the comms tech, who was sitting in front of his computer. Craning her neck, Beckett saw that the screen had a satellite image of the storm brewing on the distant horizon. The imagery showed that it was growing and moving closer to ASB.

"It's packing winds of a hundred thirty knots," the tech announced.

Murphy pursed his lips. "Shit," he cursed. "We've got to move up the evac."

"By how much?" Rhonda asked, pressing a button on her headset to mute the receiver.

"Six hours at least," Murphy said after some thought.

"Jesus," Rhonda paled, which was saying something, considering her fair Irish complexion. "I've got crew that's still not in."

"Then get them in!" the base commander ordered, then turned to spot Beckett lingering in the doorway.

"You wanted to see me?" she greeted, stepping over the threshold to join him and Rhonda in the center of the room.

"Where the hell have you been?" Murphy demanded.

Beckett didn't like his tone. "Buried under two tons of ice," she snapped back. "You?"

He met her glare with an iron will that impressed her. "Do me a favor, Marshal," he all but snarled, "You find any more bodies, mind not parading them down the main corridor? I've got newbies afraid to winter-over, for God sake. They want out on seats I don't have. And next time you want to take a goddamn plane anywhere, you ask me!"

Beckett waited a second to make certain he was finished before responding. "Sure thing, Chief."

He growled. "Enough with the lip, Beckett," he ordered. "We've got a massive storm heading our way. And we don't have enough supplies for all of us to winter-over if we get stuck down here." Murphy paused for a beat. "Am I understood, Marshal?"

"Crystal," she said with narrowed eyes. "Now, if you could cut through your red tape for just one second, you would realize that someone's out there with six canisters, possibly full of uranium, and he wants to sell it to God knows who. Oh, and guess what? He's not afraid to kill anyone to get what he wants." She pounded her fist to her chest. "And I'm the one trying to stop him."

"Since when did uranium come into this?" Murphy raised his hands in exasperation. He glanced at Rhonda and then back at her. "This is ridic—"

He was interrupted by the sound of a large book dropping onto the floor with a loud thud, sending a hard reverb across the room. All eyes jerked towards the source.

"Enough!" yelled Dr. Mark Marston. His eyes darted around the room, eventually landing on Murphy. "What the hell's wrong with you, Murph?"

The base commander licked his lips nervously, but before he could respond, the Doc was continuing, marching into the room like a disappointed parent.

"I've got bodies piling up in the med-bay," he declared and then pointed at Beckett. "And Kate's the only one doing a damn thing about it." He paused for a calming breath. "Now, why don't you try helping her for a change."

Murphy stared at Marston, unwilling to budge on his position. Beckett watched the standoff and sighed. She had had enough of this. She was too tired for more bickering. Besides, everyone was far too stressed right now with the looming storm and the chaos of a now rushed winter-over evac. Deciding to be the better person, she held up her left hand, unintentionally revealing to the others her injured state.

"You know what, Doc, it's all right," she said in a calm voice. Hooking her gaze to the right, she met Rhonda's gaze. "You got my list?"

Rhonda nodded, and unclipped it from her clipboard, handing it to Beckett without a word. She took it with a smile of thanks, and stared down at it, scanning her eyes over the times and names.

"Um… Kate," Marston said in a soft voice.

She hummed in response, flicking her eyes up to look at him. "Yeah, Doc?"

He stared back at her, face filled with growing concern. "Mind if I look at that hand?"

XXX

She sat perched on the edge of an examination table in the medical bay. Dr. Marston was preparing to unwrap the bandages from around her left hand. Beckett was afraid what he would uncover. Even though she'd felt the aching throb on and off for the last hour, a good part of her hand was just numb. And she had trouble moving her fingers. Castle wanted to stay, offer moral support. But she wanted to send him away. She didn't want him to see it, her weakness. As silly as it was, considering what he'd already seen her go through, she wanted to remain strong in his eyes, intact, retaining the image of indomitable Nikki Heat, fierce and everlasting. Whole.

She expected a fight out of him. He could be just as stubborn as she was, yet when she looked up at him while the Doc snapped on latex gloves, she found no resistance. It should astonish her how well the man knew her, but did not. Not anymore.

"Okay. I'll just take these back to your office," he said, holding up the folder and files with the information on the _Delta One One_ team. "Send out Fegetter's photo to all the bases, just as you asked."

"You'll need my computer log in," she said.

He glanced back at her with a twinkle in his eye. "I think I've got it," he flashed her wink and then, after brief pause where he gazed at her like she was the single most brilliant light shining in the bleak darkness, walked out the door, leaving her alone with Dr. Marston.

The doctor watched her carefully as he continued working on the bandages and gauze wrapped around her hand, working deliberate and gentle. She winced from the pain. With Castle gone, she was no longer afraid to show her vulnerability.

"I'm worried about you," Marston said. "You barely survived getting shot in the chest, Kate." He paused, stripping away another layer of gauze. "Is it going to take another attempt on your life to get you to finally slow down?"

She tilted her head and gazed at him warmly. In many ways, Marston had filled the spot in her heart left by Roy Montgomery's death. He was a friend and mentor, another father figure.

"You worry too much, old man," Beckett said with a cheeky grin. "But it's what I like about you."

Marston hummed in response. "Tell him yet?" he asked after a beat.

Beckett stared at him, nose wrinkled in confusion. "Tell who what?"

He gave her a pointed look. "Don't play dumb with me, kid," he said, meeting her stubborn gaze. "Our FBI consultant, he's your man from the city, right? Richard Castle? Boy, does he have it bad for you."

"What of it?" she asked, a touch defensively.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Marston glanced back down as he worked. "Coward."

Beckett gritted her teeth, whether from the pain in her hand or the truth, she wasn't sure. She needed to focus on the case. Whatever personal issues she had with Castle could come later. Besides, even if Marston was her friend, what happened between her and Castle were for them alone, not anyone else. Deciding she didn't want to talk about it, she shifted focus. "Did Cassaday have any other wounds?"

Allowing her the diversion back into the case, Marston stepped away to pull over a cart, instructing her to place her hand down on the tray before he finished unwrapping the bandages the Vostok medic had applied.

"I stripped him down to put him in a body bag," he said, voice neutral as he gave his report, his eyes focused on her hand. Beckett pointedly stared away. "Besides the smashed in face, there was only the puncture wound from the axe. No way I would have missed anything else, why?"

"Just wondering," was all she said, brow furrowed as she thought back to the blood around the jagged bars from the cage in the cargo plane. "Beckcom's leg was broken, not lacerated," she mumbled, thinking out loud as the Doc worked. "And I didn't see any consistent injuries on Bettis or Herrera." She shook her head. "I don't know. One of them got injured enough to leave a lot of blood behind in that plane."

"You'll figure something out, Kate," Marston insisted. "If anyone can, it's you."

She nodded, then offered him a grateful smile. "Thanks," she said. "For earlier, what you said to Murphy. I appreciate your support, Doc."

He gave her an amused look. "Oh, come on, Kate, you know you always have it," he smiled in a fatherly manner, then glanced down, frowning. "Ready."

She bit her lower lip and nodded.

The last slip of gauze finally came off, revealing the damaged done to her left hand. Her pinky and ring finger were completely black. Beckett eyes welled up with tears, and her vision became blurry.

"Oh God."

Marston pursed his lips, accessing her hand with a clinical eye. "How long did you let this go?" he asked.

Her lips trembled. "When did I go to Vostok?"

"Jesus," he cursed, rolling his stool over to his desk, and opening a drawer. He removed a packet containing a sterilized syringe. "Did the Russians give you anything?"

She shook her head, still staring in horror at her hand.

Marston ripped open the packet and tossed the wrapper. Rolling back to her, he gripped hand tightly with his thumb pressing down into her palm. Taking the syringe, he ran the tip of the needle along her palm. "Feel that?"

She bobbed her head. "Yes."

He let out a breath. "Good." Shifting his hold on her hand, firming it up, Marston moved the needle up along all her fingers, starting with her thumb, pointer, and middle fingers, asking the same question with each one. Reaching her ring finger, Marston poked the blackened flesh with the needle.

"And that?" he asked. "Do you feel that?"

He pushed harder, and the needle penetrated the skin. Beckett's face contorted with worry and terror.

"Kate?" Marston coaxed.

"No," she answered in a whisper, soft and horrified.

Marston tried the needle in another location. "Now?"

Slowly, Beckett shook her head. He then asked the same questions with her pinky. The realization of what had happened to her gradually started to sink in. Her mouth opened and closed in a silent cry. Marston sighed, and sat back, holding her gaze evenly.

"I'm sorry, Kate," he said, eyes soft. "I'm going to have to amputate."

Jerking her head up, Beckett let out a strangled sob. "No," she shook her head, tears leaking down her cheeks. "Don't tell me that."

"The fingers are dead, Kate," Marston said, trying to reason with her. "If I don't do it now, gangrene will set in. And then you'll lose your hand."

Beckett simply stared back at him, stricken.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured, sympathetic as he stood up and put a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her. She merely blinked, still trying to process. "Kate, I need your permission."

Letting out a watery breath, Beckett gazed up at him, eyes wide and pleading. He sighed, and squeezed her shoulder.

"There's nothing else I can do," Marston told her. "If you'd gotten here sooner… maybe." He shrugged, not comfortable fully committing to it. "I need an answer, kid."

Setting her jaw, Beckett glared away from him, hardening her resolve. "Do it," she said with a firmer voice than she'd expected.

Nodding, Marston stepped over to the cabinet to retrieve what he'd need. She remained seated in a sullen silence, numb to the world around her. Reaching up above his head, Marston pulled down the operating light, and switched it on, directing the high intensity beam down towards where her hand lay on the sterile tray. He brought out another syringe.

"I'm going to numb the rest of your hand, okay," he informed her.

Beckett just nodded in acknowledgement, staring blankly away from what was happening. She was vaguely aware of the tiny pinch in her hand, until she lost all feeling there. He was gentle and tender, speaking softly with her in an attempt to distract as he picked up a medical instrument that looked like a cross between a scissor and a clamp.

"It'll be over soon, Kate," Marston said, as he positioned the device. "I promise."

She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes. The sound was almost deafening, like a carrot snapping in two. It was quickly followed by another. Marston lifted her hand, and gently placed it down on another tray as he removed the other one, taking it out of her sight. He then returned with a curved suture and thread, and set to work stitching. Beckett couldn't watch, turning her head away to stare down at the pile of bloody gauze that had concealed the terrible damage.

"There, finished," Marston declared after what seemed like an eternity to her. He brought out a fresh roll of gauze and took a handful of minutes to wrap her hand.

Beckett stared at him, sullen, afraid to look down. Then, ever so slowly, she allowed her eyes to drift down to her hand. Two fingers and a thumb was all that remained. The white bandages he'd wrapped around her hand left her middle and pointer fingers, as well as her thumb, exposed, only covering the section of her hand that no longer had digits. Her brow furrowed as she gazed down at what was left.

"It's going to be an adjustment," Marston informed her, standing up. He walked towards the medical cabinet, opening it and selecting a pill bottle from within. He gave it a shake, and nodded, satisfied. He returned to her side with the pill bottle.

"These should ease the pain, take one every six hours," he said. "I'll look around, dig some more up for you."

Accepting it with her right hand, Beckett just bobbed her head, unable to find any words. All she could do was stare down at the vacant spot where her fingers used to be.


	20. Chapter 19

**_WARNING: Some M-Rated content near the end of this chapter. But in my opinion not enough to warrant a complete rating change for the entire story. If you don't want to read that sort of stuff, stop reading when Beckett says "Wow."_**

* * *

 **Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 19**_

* * *

She laid on her side on top of the covers of the bed in her quarters, staring blankly at her mutilated hand. She'd popped a few of the pills that the Doc had given her twenty minutes ago after he'd ordered her to get some rest. She had blindly stalked to her quarters, stripped down to her t-shirt and underwear, and then collapsed on the bed to wallow. Amputation was apparently an outpatient procedure down here on the Ice. Some localized anesthesia, snip-snip, wrap-wrap, and she was done, back to her room for the rest of the day. She wanted to hate him, resent him for what he did to her, but Dr. Mark Marston had only done what was necessary. Her eyes welled up with tears, and her body trembled as a sob escaped.

Growling, she pushed herself up and swung her legs over the side of the bed to sit up. Beckett wiped at the streaks of tears from her cheeks, and gritted her teeth. She was done with this pity party. This whole thing—joining the U.S. Marshal Service, coming down to Antarctica—had been one big pity party. And she was done with it. She was tired of running away, of avoiding and denying what she truly wanted.

The public address system sounded, intruding on her solitude. The Irish lilt of Rhonda's voice issued from the speaker. " _Attention South Pole, the storm is now approximately five hundred miles away_ …"

Beckett tuned out the rest of the message. She raised her left hand and stared at it. Her bottom lip began to tremble. _You're broken_ , she thought. _Again_.

Sighing, she dropped her head down, letting her long hair fall like a curtain over her face, shielding her from the truth that was her life. Richard Castle wouldn't want her like this, she decided. She had been at the top of her game when he started following her around. Fit, strong, and confident. The world was hers to command, and she owned it. She had been unstoppable. That was the woman he had fallen in love with, she told herself. And she was no longer that woman. She was a pale shade of her former self.

 _The heart wants what the heart wants_.

"Yeah, well you don't always get what you want," she grumbled out, stepping into her pants as she stood, tugging them up. Jaw clenched, she struggled to latch the button into place, before succeeding on her third attempt. She wanted to curse, rage against the universe for always knocking her down.

Padding over to the small closet, Beckett grabbed her cardigan off the hanger. It was easy enough to slip her arms through the sleeves, but then came the buttons. With her mangled hand, she just couldn't handle the buttons like she used to. She tried doing it one handed, but it was a struggle. She could manage pants but not her damn cardigan! Grinding her teeth, near seething, her frustration mounted as she fought back against every bit of emotion that was bombarding her carefully constructed walls.

Giving up, she lashed out, kicking over a nearby chair, furious at herself, the situation… everything.

"Hey!"

She startled at the unexpected shout, jerking her head up to discover Castle standing in the opened doorway, eyes wide and concerned. He stepped into the room, put down the papers he'd been carrying on the top of the pathetically small dresser, and closed the door behind him, making sure to lock it, something she apparently forgot to do when she'd come here to sulk.

"Marston told me," he said as way of explanation.

She curled her left hand against her chest, not wanting him to see her disfigurement. Castle noticed the movement, and his brow lowered in anger.

"Stop," he growled, stunning her with the intensity of it. "Don't do that. Don't hide from me."

After heaving in a deep breath for courage, she complied with his wishes. This was Rick Castle, after all, if there were anyone—save for her father, and maybe Lanie—who she didn't mind being vulnerable in front of, then it was him. She held up her left hand, staring down at the bandages covering the stitches along the blank knuckles where her pinky and ring fingers used to be. She pursed her lips and swallowed before trusting herself to meet his level gaze.

"If you came to propose, now's not a really good time," she spoke with a thick voice, trying for humor, even managing a watery chuckle.

"I don't think this is funny," Castle asserted with a stern expression.

Beckett shrugged, letting her hand fall down. "How can you even love me?" she asked, startling him with admitting it out loud, the truth of his words spoken on that day, in such a casual manner. It wasn't like they'd actually talked about it yet since she let slip that she had remembered everything that had happened when she'd been shot. They rarely talked about the things that mattered. "I'm a broken mess, Castle. Physically and emotionally."

"Kate," he said in a soft voice, comforting. "We're all a little broken."

She shook her head. She wanted to believe him, she did. But she couldn't. It was part of the reason she'd ran away from it, from him, denied herself what her heart yearned for. She was afraid.

"I'll ruin it," she said in a choked sob. "I always ruin it." Her watery eyes flicked up to meet his. "I don't want to hurt you, Castle. But if we… if we had… I would have. I'd hurt you. I'd ruin us."

"You don't know that," he insisted.

"Shit, Rick," Beckett shook her head. "I've already hurt you. I'm no good at this."

She looked away. His eyes were too soft and loving, understanding. Hunching her shoulders, she turned her back on him, shuffling towards the bed. She sat down on the edge, keeping her head down, hiding behind the curtain of her hair. And then she waited. She knew he'd come to her. He didn't disappoint. After a sigh, Castle approached her and cautiously sat down beside her.

"I should have told you this earlier, but I'll tell you now," he said after a long silence. "You have a right to know."

The hint of importance in his words had her glancing up, curious. He sat with a ramrod back, staring straight ahead, his handsome features marred with uncertainty and worry.

"What?"

"It's a long story," he said, cocking his head to look at her, brow furrowed as if he was second guessing himself.

Beckett let out a pitiful chuckle. "I'm not going anywhere," she said, shifting to cradle her bandaged hand in her lap, pursing her lips as she glared down at it.

"All right," he conceded, and then shifted, glancing at her contemplatively. "You wanna know how I ended up working with the FBI?"

She shrugged her shoulders, noncommittedly, not entirely certain she wanted to hear about his adventures working alongside the great Agent Carrie Stetko, kicking ass and solving crimes. In her mind that should be her. Kate Beckett and Richard Castle. Together. Always. It was childish. But that was how she felt, and she wasn't going to deny it anymore.

"After you left," he began, shifting his gaze away from her. "I tried working with Ryan and Esposito, but it wasn't the same." His brow furrowed. "Plus, Montgomery's replacement turned out to be a real hard ass. Victoria Gates. Boys called her 'Iron Gates'. She didn't like me much."

"I couldn't imagine why," she managed to tease, despite her morose mood. It pleased her that she earned a smirk and light chuckle from him. She did not like seeing his normally jovial features set in a hard and serious manner. Castle should always be smiling.

"When you were released from the hospital and disappeared up to your father's cabin to recover," he said, turning to look at her once more, eyes apologetic and pleading for forgiveness that she didn't yet understand, "I got a call from someone claiming to be Captain Montgomery's friend. He said Roy had mailed him some files before he'd died… files that had a name."

Her chest clenched and her breath hitched. "Castle? Is this about my mother's murder?"

"Yes," he confessed in a soft, remorseful voice. "And your shooting. All of it."

Her scars throbbed with the reminder. She felt dazed. Unconsciously, she leaned away from him before she could even register what she was doing. Grasping back control, Beckett heaved in deep calming breaths.

"Kate," Castle spoke gently, looking like he wanted to touch her, but refrained from doing so, like he had no right. "We got him."

Stunned, her eyes jerked up to meet his.

"What!?" she gasped.

"You'd been gone for a while, and Gates had kicked me out of the precinct," he explained. "I persuaded Smith—that's what he called himself—to meet me, bring the files. He was reluctant, but agreed."

"You got him to give you the files," Beckett filled in, eyes wide, already picturing the encounter like something out of a movie, two cloaked figures meeting in the shadows of a darkened parking garage.

"Yes," he nodded. "I did. And after I read through them, I went to the FBI, to someone I knew would listen to me."

"Jordan Shaw," Beckett supplied, already knowing it.

He nodded, and grinned. "Yes," Castle confirmed. "Jordan Shaw. And I was right. She listened to me. She liked you, Kate, respected you, and wanted to help." He paused, brow knitting together. "Asked a lot of questions too, being a profiler and everything. She wasn't surprised you'd disappeared. But she was surprised we…" he trailed off.

"What?"

Castle hesitated, and swallowed. Her eyes followed the motion of his throat, before jumping back up to meet his, expectant, curious.

"Us," she answered before he could, reminding some of her conversations with the FBI agent during their time working the Scott Dunn case all those years ago. "She thought we'd be together."

He bobbed his head, seemingly grateful she'd worked it out without him having to say it. "Anyways, she agreed to help me. But she was busy, working a case in Philadelphia, so she used her influence to set up a meeting for me with the FBI's New York field office. Her recommendation carried a lot of weight with the head agent there. That's when I started working with the FBI. It took close to a year, the agent in charge wanted to be thorough, so the bastard couldn't slip by on some technicality."

"Stetko," she spat out the agent's name with jealous venom.

Castle almost laughed at her vehemence, but inclined his head. "Yes, Agent Carrie Stetko. It was how we met."

She shook her head, flushing a bit at her behavior. She had no right to be jealous. Castle wasn't hers. He didn't belong to anyone. He stared at her for along minute, his expression revealing he suspected her thoughts.

"Nothing happened between us, Kate," he said in a voice that left no room for any doubt. "Our relationship was strictly professional." He paused, licking his lips. "I'll be honest, though, she was interested, and made no secret of it, but she also recognized that it couldn't—wouldn't—happen."

"Why?" she couldn't believe she was even asking.

Castle stared at her like it was obvious. "You," he answered.

Beckett granted him that. She saw no guile in his eyes. There was no reason to doubt him, especially when he looked at her like that. Marston was right. She felt like an idiot for never noticing it before, back when they were in New York. Perhaps she had, but she'd just been better at denying it. Castle had loved her, and if the look in his eyes was any indication, he still loved her, in spite of all her flaws, which, when she thought about it, made it all the more miraculous.

"She'd already known of my work with the NYPD, and was a fan," he went on. "She loves Nikki Heat. Better than Storm, is what she says. It made it easier to convince her to let me work the case with them." He paused for moment, gazing at her with an amused quirk of his lips. "I think you'd like her."

"I… um… I'll take your word on that," was all she could manage. She licked her lips, heart pounding, eyes wild, as she then steered the conversation back to the first revelation, the one with more importance to her own life. "But you got him?" Her entire adult life had been spent with this one obsession, and even if she'd tried to move past it, to have her own life, she couldn't without having some resolution to it. And now it was finally within her grasp.

"We did," Castle affirmed. "Senator William Bracken. He'd been an assistant district attorney when Montgomery and his friends were doing their ransom scheme."

Montgomery's words floated through her mind.

 _He took that money to become what he is and God forgive me, but that may be my greatest sin._

"I wanted you there, when we arrested him," Castle spoke quickly, seeing her getting lost in her memories. "But…," he sighed, raking his fingers through his gorgeous hair. "Once it got going, it happened so fast."

She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut, blocking the rise of tears. She breathed in deeply, steadying the frantic beating of her heart. It was over. It was finally over. She hated she hadn't been a part of it, been the one to get justice for Johanna Beckett, but at least it was over.

"I'm sorry," Castle was saying when she opened her eyes. "I should have worked harder at contacting you, but the truth is I was still a little angry, for how you'd just left without a word."

"No," she shushed him gently, shaking her head. "Don't apologize. Don't. You got her justice— _me_ justice, Castle. You have nothing to apologize for."

She could tell he wanted to object, so Beckett forced herself to glance up and meet his eyes with hers, knowing that she could say far more with that look than she ever could with words. To reinforce her display, she reached out with her right hand for his, offering a reassuring squeeze.

"Thank you, Castle," she spoke sincerely, with a firm voice, feeling like a sudden weight had been lifted off her chest. "This means more than you could possibly ever know."

He squeezed her hand back, still looking remorseful. "I should have told you sooner," he persisted. "It was wrong to hold it back. But, it never seemed like the right time. And I wanted to…"

Beckett sniffed, and bobbed her head, understanding. "It's okay, Castle," she interrupted his rambling apology. "You don't have to explain. It was best this way. It's private. Just us, alone." She released a breath, letting herself smile just a little "If it had to be anyone, I'm glad it was you."

His lips quirked up, and she was so grateful for that. He met her eyes with a deep look that stole her breath. "I love you, Kate," he declared, raising a hand so he could cradle her jaw in his palm. "I'd do anything for you. Anything."

She swallowed, heart racing for an entirely different reason than it had earlier. "You mean that, don't you?"

"Of course," he said, seemed slightly offended by her question. "I've never been more serious about anything in my life. I meant it then, and I mean it now. I've never met anyone quite like you, Kate Beckett." He paused, gazing at her with that unbridled love shining out of his blue eyes. It was breathtaking, finally allowing herself to see it. "I stand by my earlier declaration, you're extraordinary."

And, as if to prove it, he took her left hand in his and held it for a long beat. Time seemed to stand still. She watched him, wide eyed, as he brought her disfigured hand up to his mouth and brushed his lips against her palm, before gently turning her ruined hand over and tenderly kissing her knuckles. Through it all, his eyes stayed locked on hers.

"Extraordinary."

"Castle," she whispered his name on a sigh as her eyes locked with his, unable to respond any other way.

He licked his lips and her eyes flirted down to capture the movement, before returning to meet his yearning gaze with one of her own. Her chest swelled with emotion, and before she could stop it, the words she'd held back for so long, struggled with accepting and understanding, finally came flowing out.

"I love you. Oh, Castle. So much," Beckett nearly wept with it, the joy of finally confessing her feelings. She reached up with her right hand, and trailed her trembling fingers down the side of his handsome face, almost reverently, repeating her declaration like it was a mantra. Now that it had finally been spoken, it just kept coming, like a flood. "I love you, Castle. I love you."

"Kate," he gasped, and she watched in wonder as his brow rose and his eyes glistened with awe.

She smiled sweetly, feeling her chest fill with it, the happiness that came with loving someone and allowing them to love you back. It was magical, and wonderful. She couldn't believe it had taken her this long. She brushed her fingertips along his lips, her eyes glazing with desire.

"Kiss me, Castle," she pleaded, arching towards him, already halfway there.

He didn't need to be told twice. Castle slanted his mouth over hers in a bruising and passionate embrace. All the sullen and self-pity that had ravaged her psyche evaporated as she leaned into the kiss, meeting Castle with the same intensity he brought. The years of suppressed emotion was unleashed like a tidal wave. She clung to him with her good hand, unwilling to let go. He cradled the back of her head in his hand, fingers massaging her scalp, as he worshiped her mouth with his, plundering with his tongue, and surrendering to hers. They would have continued sucking face—that was the best way she could think to describe what they were doing—if the need for air hadn't become paramount.

Castle rested his forehead against hers. Their eyes locked as both their chests heaved with each recovering breath.

"Wow," she declared between heated pants for air.

He grinned in agreement, and kissed her again. Before she knew it, he was gently pushing her back onto the bed, rolling her cardigan off her shoulders and tossing it away. Her heart drummed wildly beneath her breast as she grabbed at his shirt with her good hand, trying to pull it off, but failing. Castle sat back, and unbuttoned the thick plaid flannel that looked so good on him. However, Beckett had to admit, right now she'd rather see it on the floor.

Castle molded his hands along her slender body, gently caressing her sides. Her skin burned with need, and she surged up to meet him, capturing his mouth in a desperate, needy kiss as her hand fisted the white cotton of his undershirt.

"Off," she growled.

"You first," he retorted with a smirk and waggle of his eyebrows.

She laughed, actually laughed with him as he beamed back at her, delighted and thrilled with her reaction. But then she was moaning, dropping her head back into the mattress as his mouth worked its magic down the column of her throat. He nuzzled his nose into her shoulder as his hands moved up her sides, cupping her breasts. Her body sparked and crackled with need.

Shoving him back, Beckett sat up and tore at his undershirt, wanting it off. He obliged, pulling the garment up and over his head. She noted with amazement that he was much more fit than she'd been expecting. Castle had always been a solidly built man. He was no buff Adonis, never had been, but he'd definitely lost some weight and gained some muscle during their time apart. She couldn't help but think about the reason for the change.

"Because of me?" she asked, slowly running her fingers up and over his firm biceps and broad shoulders.

He hesitated before answering. "I wanted to impress you," he said, momentarily averting his eyes in an uncharacteristic display of insecurity that astonished her. She would never have pegged the cocky, playboy Richard Castle as having any insecurities.

"That's sweet," Beckett decided, smiling softly as she reached up to brush her fingers through the hair that had flop down over his forehead, regaining his attention. "Silly, but sweet."

He grinned, visibly relieved. "Now it's your turn," Castle asserted, sweeping his fingers under her t-shirt, pulling it up and over her head. He twisted around and tossed it carelessly down to the floor, where it joined the growing pile of discarded clothing.

Beckett felt her cheeks warm, wishing that she'd been wearing more than a simple white cotton sports bra underneath. Castle didn't seem to mind. His eyes were alight with desire and lust, but also love, as it had been for a long time. He smoothed his hands over her flat stomach, brushing his fingertips up the scar along her side. She held her breath, awaiting his reaction. Perhaps they both had insecurities.

"Beautiful," he declared, as if sensing her thoughts. "You're so beautiful, Kate."

Both his words and touch were like a balm to the ill-healed surgical scar, and she sighed, easing into his touch as he bent over her, soundly kissing away her insecurities and worries. He ran his tongue along the scar, hot and sensual, stealing her breath.

"You're not so bad yourself, Castle," she husked, repeating the same words she'd said to him all that time ago in a hotel in Los Angeles. The difference in circumstances were not lost on her.

Remembering it as well, Castle chuckled, and peppered her exposed skin with wet kisses, making her giggle. It was almost jarring, hearing herself, but it was nice. So nice. But soon she was wiggling her legs, rolling her hips, wanting more. More. More. Castle curled his fingers under the waistband of her pants as her hips rose and bucked. He flashed her a salacious wink and then slowly tugged them down her long legs. He ran his fingers up the exposed skin, caressing and massaging her calves and thighs.

"Strong," he noted. And then he was slipping his hands under, lifting her hips so he could cup her ass and squeeze. "So strong."

Beckett groaned, her body on fire with desperate need. It had been so long. Too long. She was glad her drought would end and stop with Castle. It would be him now. And only him. She couldn't imagine being with anyone else. Ever. She already knew it in her heart. He was her one and done.

Hovering over her, Castle kissed her soundly before retreating and standing. He dipped his head down as he kicked his shoes off and worked on unclasping his belt, shoving his pants down once he'd freed the buckle. She propped herself up on her elbows and watched him undress, taking not just his pants off, but the thick wool underwear as well. Her insides warmed and pooled in her center at the sight of him. She smirked, meeting his gaze. He definitely had every reason to be cocky.

"Like what you see, Beckett?" he asked, the smug bastard.

"Shut up," she snipped back.

Ignoring her injured hand, she managed to remove her sports bra without much difficulty, delighting in the way his eyes dropped to her naked chest. Her insecurities about the scars marring her body had long since faded. She trusted this man more than she had trusted anyone. He loved her, flaws and all, and she was finally embracing it.

Castle approached her, planting a knee on the bed as she lifted her hips up off the mattress, helping him remove her plain black underwear. Beckett hadn't planned it like this. Even when she hated his guts for disrupting her life by planting himself in it, she had known this would happen, had fantasized about it as she'd touched herself. She had been attracted to him from the start, but she'd never tell him that. His ego was big enough as it was.

Once she realized her feelings weren't just primal lust, but swayed towards real, genuine emotions, Beckett had then always imagined their first time being more romantic. At the very least, she'd pictured herself wearing sexy lingerie that Castle could then strip from her, piece by piece, like unwrapping an alluring and provocative gift. But with the way her body was now thrumming with need, she had no complaints. This was Richard Castle, her once annoying shadow, who had turned into a friend and trusted partner, and had then become the man who loved her… the man _she_ loved. All she needed was him. The rest was just window dressing.

Exposed to him as never before, Beckett clenched her thighs together, feeling her pulse quickening, the need rising. His hands roamed up her slender body, mapping every dip and contour, memorizing her. Mouth and tongue followed, scorching her skin with blinding pleasure. He was a master at it, sucking and titillating. Her breath stilled when he found the bullet scar between her breasts. Her eyelids fluttered and she whimpered as he pressed a reverent kiss there, whispering a silent prayer of gratitude against her warmed flesh. And then, without further preamble, he captured her breast in his mouth, blanking her mind of that terrible day and returning it to the glorious present. He swirled his tongue around her taut nipple, while his hand palmed her other breast, expertly kneading and teasing the soft flesh with wickedly talented fingers.

Beckett groaned, arching her body and parting her legs, opening up for him. "Castle," she keened, breath thick with it, reaching for him. "I need you."

He shifted above her, falling easily into the cradle of her hips. He gently smoothed back the hair from her damp forehead, gazing down into her hooded eyes with a swirl of lust and love reflecting back. It took her breath away, just how much he loved her. Beckett had never felt anything more right in all her life. Castle dipped his head down and kissed her. She trailed her hand down between their hot bodies, finding him hard and ready. She guided him to her, and then, after a gentle thrust of his hips, he was inside her.

He was gentle at first, tender, showing her just how much he loved her. She allowed herself to bask in it, let herself feel it, every bit of it, right down to her very being. She was loved. Eventually, though, the rhythm shifted as she surged up into him, urging him on, quickening the pace, meeting him thrust for glorious thrust, stroke for stroke, hips bucking and rolling enticingly. She grappled with him for control, flipping them over, frantically rocking her hips as she rode him hard and desperate, claiming him. He moved with her, hands guiding, hips swaying with her in the intimate dance that only lovers shared. It felt like her heart would burst out of her chest from the sheer amount of pleasure coursing through her veins. He gripped her hips, seizing back control as he rolled her back under him, sucking and nipping at her throat. A sob of pure sexual thrill tumbled from her lips as he touched her in all the right ways, like they'd always been doing this.

It was perfect.

It was right.

It was them.

As he moved above her, driving her higher and higher, her breaths came out in hot, gasping pants. The world shrunk to just them, alone in this room, on this bed. Her right hand fisted the bedsheets as the pleasure began to consume her. Kate Beckett had never felt more alive. More warm. More loved. Every fiber of her being was focused on the man above her, on making love with him. And the anguish and pain she'd felt over the missing fingers on her left hand were immediately forgotten as Richard Castle sent her over the edge and into ecstasy.


	21. Chapter 20

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 20**_

* * *

Beckett rested, naked and satisfied, on her side, curled into an equally naked and satisfied Richard Castle. She smoothed her right hand over his chest, mesmerized by the gentle rise and fall as he breathed. Closing her eyes, she nuzzled into him, inhaling deeply the scent of him and them. She wanted to stay like this, linger for a moment longer in the afterglow of their lovemaking, but there was a murderer to catch, and they didn't have much time left to do so. Her eyes narrowed as she remembered something from when Castle had first arrived in her quarters.

"What were those papers you brought?" she asked, pushing up slightly on her elbow to glance down at his relaxed features.

"Huh?" Castle's eyes fluttered open and he looked up at her with a befuddled expression. He groaned, flopping his head back down in the pillow. "Really, Kate? You wanna talk about that now?" he questioned, trailing his fingers down her back and palming her ass. "We could be doing so much better things," he added with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows as he squeezed the toned flesh.

"There's a killer to catch," Beckett asserted, patting his chest, before sitting up and scooting over to the edge of the bed.

He lazed back, watching with a dopey expression as she stood up and stretched. She felt good. Loose and limber. Great sex would do that, she supposed. A grin worked its way onto her face. She could feel his eyes on her—specifically her backside—but said nothing, deciding she would let him enjoy the show. It was only fair, Beckett assumed as she looked back at him and bit her lower lip, letting out a soft hum of approval at her view of a naked Richard Castle sprawled out on her small bunk of a bed. It only took her two to four steps to reach the small dresser where he had dumped the stack of papers an hour or so ago.

Picking them up, she turned around to see Castle sitting up, trying to smooth down his adorably rumpled hair. He glanced up at her, eyes unashamedly drifting up and down her long and lean form, clearly appreciative of her lack of clothing.

"Fegetter?" she asked.

Castle frowned. It took him a second before he recalled the task she had assigned him prior to their sex-filled interlude. "Oh yeah, emails sent to all the bases with attached photo," he asserted. "But nobody's seen him yet."

She'd expected as much. Tilting her head, Beckett rifled through the papers, discovering them to be faxed photos of three different types of canisters with Cyrillic writing on them. Holding them up so he could see, Beckett asked, "What are these?"

His eyes had wandered again, this time lingering longingly on her breasts. She snapped her fingers to regain his attention and then presented him with the photos again.

Sighing, Castle squinted at the photos, trying to remember, and then shook his head, his eyes lazily drifting back to her naked body. "Huh?" he hummed. "Sorry. I find it difficult to concentrate when you're standing there naked." His eyes greedily skimmed up and down her slender form once again, most definitely appreciating her nakedness.

Beckett suppressed a smirk, trying not to congratulate herself on thoroughly dulling his mind with sex. "Deal with it, stud," she quipped back, earning a delighted grin from him.

"Stud, eh?" he quirked up an eyebrow, leaning his shoulders back and puffing out his chest. "Hmm. I like that."

She bit her lower lip and rolled her eyes. "Yes, Castle," she placated. "You're a stud. My stud."

"I like the sound of that," he primped and preened, his ego growing larger by the second. He reached forward, snagging her by the hips, and tugged her into the v-shaped opening between his legs. His head dipped forward and he pressed his hot mouth lightly against her flat stomach, teasing her navel with his wickedly talented tongue.

She squirmed back, shaking her head, suppressing a moan as very pleasant warmth pooled in her center, her insides screaming with want. "Castle, stop," Beckett gasped. "Get a hold of yourself." She shoved the photos back into his face. "I need you to focus."

"I am," he asserted, fingers drumming against her hipbone.

"On the case," she replied, half chuckling.

Waggling his eyebrows at her, he surrendered to her demands, and redirected his gaze to the faxed photos. "Oh, yeah…," he said, leaning back and snapping his fingers. "Those are what the Soviets used to transport weapons grade materials in." He shifted, becoming more alert. "I contacted Carrie, filled her in on what we found. So, she sent me these."

" _Carrie_ ," she all but bit out, absurdly jealous and irritated with his use of the FBI agent's first name, especially considering what they'd just done.

Castle gave her a look, and she pursed her lips, refusing to admit her reaction was unwarranted. He was hers now, and Kate Beckett didn't like sharing.

"Anyway," he went on, wisely not commenting further. "The FBI matched the dimensions inside the safe. We're looking for six of those." He gestured to the printout photos of the canisters. "Stetko thinks it might be Hexafluoride, which is a derivative of Uranium."

Beckett nodded, filling in the rest. "I've heard of it," she said, eyes narrowing as she stared at the photos. "It's a component for nuclear detonation." She shook her head, putting the papers back down on the dresser. "These assholes were really in over their heads." Padding back over to the bed, she bent down to retrieve her clothing. "I need to wash up."

"Want some company?" Castle asked with a mischievous grin, his eyes once again roaming up and down her naked body.

"Sorry," she said, and she really was. "But showers here aren't big enough for two." Clutching the discarded clothes to her chest, she paused on her way to the tiny bathroom when she noticed his disappointed pout. On impulse, she darted back over and kissed him, and then, for good measure—or perhaps because she could now—she kissed him again. "I'll make it up to you, promise."

He beamed at her, watching with delight as she wiggled her naked butt into the bathroom.

XXX

Castle must have gone to use the communal showers, because when she exited the compact bathroom attached to her quarters, Beckett discovered him perched on the edge of her bed, fully dressed and impeccably groomed. Her chest swelled as she gazed at him, enjoying the feeling of seeing him so comfortable and relaxed in the small space that she called home down her at the bottom of the world.

"Feeling better?" he asked, gesturing towards her hand.

Glancing down at her bandaged hand, Beckett raised her eyebrows in surprise. She hadn't even thought of it since before they made love. "Um… yeah, it's fine," she said after a beat. "Still not used to it."

"It doesn't change who you are," Castle asserted when he noticed she'd been staring at the spot with the missing digits for a while. He met her wandering gaze. "You're still the same badass, mind-blowing hot detective I met all those years ago."

She laughed at that, grateful for him. "Well, I like to think I've grown some, become a better woman than I was," she replied, finishing toweling off, not in the least bit perturb at having Castle watch her do so. It was odd. She had never felt this relaxed so soon into a relationship. The thought had her stopping. She frowned and glanced at Castle, uncertain.

"Castle? We're together now, right? Like… er… a couple?"

He blinked, startled by the question. "I thought that was obvious," he said. "I love you, Kate. I'm all in."

"Good," she nodded, smiling. "Me too." She leaned down to kiss him, tenderly running her fingers along his jaw as she pulled back, humming in satisfaction. "Wow." Oh, she loved that look of bliss plastered over his face.

Turning around, Beckett finished drying off, and grabbed a fresh pair of underwear from her duffel. Tugging on the black cotton, she turned her mind back on the case, mulling over possible ways Fegetter was avoiding getting seen, completely oblivious of the awed and amazed look on her partner's face as she casually dressed in front of him. However, she did register his grunt of disapproval when she pulled her sports bra on. Beckett flashed him a look, and grabbed her pants, stepping into them and pulling them up. She was pleased that it only took her one try to latch the buckle. Next came her shirt, and then her cardigan. Just like before, she had no trouble sliding her arms in, but struggled when it came to the buttons.

"Here, let me help," Castle said, practically jumping up to assist.

She was still trying to work one of the buttons through the loop, when his gentle hands brushed over hers, immediately calming her. He stepped into her personal space and her senses were overwhelmed with his presence. She closed her eyes and let out a soft exhale, letting him takeover. It was incredibly intimate. And so very out of her comfort zone. Yet, at the same time, felt so natural. When he finished, she looked up to see him staring down at her with that burning need in his eyes.

"Kate—"

" _Beckett, do you copy_?" the radio sitting in a charging cradle on top of her dresser crackled. It was Murphy.

Castle sighed, and pursed his lips, stepping back to let her move around him and grab the device. She picked it up with her good hand and thumbed the button to answer.

"I'm here."

" _Fegetter has just been spotted on the base_ ," Murphy said.

"Where?" she asked, glancing over at Castle.

" _He just left the science storage_."

"Great, I'm on my way," she announced, already on her way.

"Where's the science storage?" Castle asked as he followed her out the door and into the hall, nearly bumping into a lab tech heading back to his berth.

"It's in this building, same level," she said, a hard and determined look on her face. "You go ahead, I need to get my gun." She cursed, regretting placing it in the office safe before returning to her quarters, even if it was procedure. There was a killer on the loose. She should have kept herself armed just in case.

Castle grabbed her elbow before she could move, stopping her. She spun around to meet his questioning eyes.

"You sure?"

She nodded. "I trust you, Castle. Go. I'll be right behind you."

"Right," he smiled, and let his fingers slide down her arm as he released her.

Beckett spared him one more glance, before taking a hard right and barreling up the stairs, gripping the railing with her good hand to help propel her up. Reaching the second level, she stormed through the recreation room, pleased to see it was empty this time.

"Make a hole!" she shouted as she dashed to the left down the main corridor, her boots pounding on the metal floor plating. The staff and crew separated on her request, and she ran the gauntlet, spinning on her heel to take a sharp right, using a short cut to reach her office.

Bursting in, she slowed and approached the gun safe. Either she was still too jazzed from the mind-blowing sex she'd just had with Castle, or it had been the rush of adrenaline, but Beckett failed to notice that her office door had been unlocked. She was in the process of punching in her code, when she noticed the light behind her fade.

Alarmed, Beckett turned around just in time to see a man emerge from his hiding spot behind the once opened door, closing it as he stepped forward. She knitted her eyebrows and glared at him, taking in his haggard appearance and desperate, despondent eyes. It was the scraggily red beard that gave him away. Pursing her lips, Beckett greeted him with a slight nod, trying not to agitate him.

"Scanlon Fegetter?" she asked.

He brandished a knife, and held it up in a threatening manner.

Beckett held up her hands. "Easy," she said, falling back on all the training and experience she had as a cop. It was easier said than done. With everything that had happened in the last 24 hours, her nerves were frayed. She had gone from anguish to elation in less than a handful of hours. But she sucked it up, relied on her training. "I know about that plane."

Fegetter just stood there, staring at her. And then slowly, his features began to crumble, and his eyes started to water. His threaten posture immediately vanished, if it was ever really there in the first place. He raised one hand, scrubbed it down his face, and then just succumbed to the rising tide of emotions. Soon he had both hands up, cradling his face as a desolate noise escaped his lips. He still held the knife in his fist, knuckles turning white, so Beckett didn't risk moving.

"It's okay," Beckett reassured in a soothing voice. "Talk to me." This wasn't the first time she had to talk someone down. It was always emotionally draining, but it was better than the alternatives.

It took him a moment, but she waited for him to collect himself. He sniffed, ran his nose along the back of his hand. Regaining enough control, he looked back up at her, eyes large, carrying with them the horror of what he'd seen.

"We were out there looking for meteorite samples," Fegetter began, voice shaky. "We found nothing for weeks. And then," he almost smiled a bit, as if reliving the moment, "the radar went off the charts. We… we hit something big. We debated what it could be. We came back to base to report what we'd found, that's when we heard the story about the lost Russian plane."

He drew in a shaky breath and lowered the knife, staring blankly ahead. Beckett's heart rate eased a little at that. It was a good sign. She still didn't want to risk anything, but she wasn't as worried now.

"Instead of filing a report, we went back out there," he continued his tale. "We blasted our way through the ice and found the plane. And found that goddamn box. Herrera thought we could ram the bars with the crates. But he got sloppy. He was in a hurry and unhooked the crate too early." He stopped, shuddering. "It was over before we could stop it."

Beckett grimaced at the memory of Daniel Herrera crushed between the two crates.

"Bettis started to freak out," he went on, shuddering, tears forming in his eyes. "She wanted to bail, but Tallis wouldn't let her. Said we were all in together now. And then Beckcom got injured getting into the cage. She was losing a lot of blood. We tried to stop the bleeding, but we were afraid to move her. So… I radioed for help."

The moisture in his eyes flowed down his cheeks as his face pinched.

"The plan was for him to call us when he got to the Pole, to let us know he was okay," Fegetter said, trembling, silent tears running down his cheeks and getting lost in his scraggily red beard. "But Geoff was right. We couldn't trust him."

When he trailed off, Beckett felt the need to coax him on. She was finally getting the story. "Trust who? Who's after you?"

He only shook his head, looking down, inconsolable.

A knock sounded from the door. Beckett bit the inside of her cheek, hoping it wasn't Castle. Now was not the time. Fegetter's head jerked up, his eyes wide, spooked. He glared at her, scared, like a caged animal. She raised her hand, attempting to reassure him, but by the time the door started to open, it was too late.

"Kate, it's Doc," came Marston's voice. "I found some more of those painkillers."

"It's okay," Beckett told Fegetter, trying to keep her voice calm and steady. "He's a doctor. He can help you."

But her reassurances fell on deaf ears. Fegetter spun on their visitor, knocking Marston back as he dashed away. The Doc hit the doorjamb and let out a startled gasp, dropping the medicine bottle. Little white pills went flying, scattering all over the floor, along with the knife, which it appeared the burly Scot had dropped during his collision with Marston. Beckett jerked into action, rushing forward, only stopping to check on the doctor.

"Doc, you okay?" she asked, frantic.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he waved off her concerned, clutching his side. "Go. Go. Get him."

She nodded, and then took off, racing after her only lead.


	22. Chapter 21

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 21**_

* * *

Pulse pounding, Beckett charged down the hallway, shoving off the wall and spinning to keep her momentum going, gain some ground on her quarry. She pushed through the door, sliding out into the main corridor running down the center of the building. Narrowing her eyes, she glanced both ways, spotting the man rushing towards the stairs, bumping and plowing through people. Beckett gritted her teeth and took off after him.

"Stop him!" she shouted.

But everyone seemed confused, just standing there, completely useless. Hunching her shoulders, she picked up the pace, weaving through the bewildered techs and station staff, all of whom were too focus on packing up for winter-over to be of any help.

Fegetter skidded around a short woman carrying a stack of boxes, and barreled down the stairs. Swinging her arms, Beckett followed him, darting around two techs idly talking about hitting the beach once they got off the Ice. Ahead of her, the woman in front of the stairs stumbled, and the boxes tumbled to the floor, landing with a loud thud. Growling, Beckett kicked her feet and vaulted over the obstacle, much like she had during her track and field days in high school.

She drove down the stairs on a hard run, nearly losing her footing. Her heart skipped a beat, fearing for a moment that she would end up falling down the stairs. Thankfully her balance was good, and she managed it just fine without crashing. Flying off the stairs, Beckett skidded to a stop, glancing right, only spotting three guys carrying boxes out of a room. She snapped her head to the left and spotted him. Fegetter was already at the far end, pushing through the hatch that led into the interconnecting tunnel.

Beckett cursed under her breath, pumping her legs to propel her faster down the corridor, shouting for people to make a hole. It startled everyone, some glanced at her with annoyance, but the vast majority complied. Dashing down the corridor, she reached the door seal, and shoved her way through it. Fegetter was more than halfway across when she entered. She growled, hoofing it after him, dodging a man with his head down, nose buried in an inventory checklist. Just as her prey was pushing open the door on the other side, Beckett ran into a cart.

"Scanlon, stop!" she yelled, banging her hands in frustration against the metal drums on the cart.

The man pushing the cart offered a shrug of his shoulder in apology, as she maneuvered around him. Breathing heavily, she reached the other side, and slipped through the door, entering Building A. As she spun around to continue the chase, Beckett rammed head long into a man's broad chest.

The man grunted and they both stumbled. He reached up to grab her arm to steady her, and it was then that she caught a whiff of familiar aftershave. Jerking her head up, she allowed herself a brief smile when she saw Castle staring back at her.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, steadying her.

She heaved in a breath. "Fegetter," she gasped. "He just came through this door."

Castle shook his head. "I didn't see him."

Beckett grabbed his bicep, and arched her neck to look over his shoulder, scanning the long corridor. She saw a slew of people, but none of them matched Fegetter's hurried gait or desperate look. Skipping her eyes along the side doors, she stopped, seeing a door to the right opened.

"This way!" she pointed, moving around Castle and dashing for the door.

They stumbled into one of the communal bathrooms. Castle took the left side, glancing at the stalls, while Beckett went right. Several showers were running after full blast. And someone was butchering a Taylor Swift song, their whiny voice echoing off the walls. Castle yanked a curtain open and a woman screamed, hurled curses at him. He held up his hands in apology, but was unable to prevent the startled woman from throwing the bar of soap into his handsome mug. Beckett bit back a chuckle when he almost fell backwards.

While Castle continued apologizing, Beckett stalked down the row of stalls, kicking open each door. The third one revealed a man with his pants around his ankles, a Playboy in one hand, and his manhood in the other. His eyes went wide with mortification, and Beckett quickly slammed the stall door shut, shuddering at the image. Thankfully Castle was still too busy trying to calm the woman down that he hadn't noticed her embarrassing discovering.

Face red, she turned to the next stall. The door flung open, ramming her into her as Fegetter surged out. She tripped backwards into the sinks, and bumped her injured hand against the counter.

A very foul curse slipped out her lips as she pulled her hand to her chest. Blinking past the pain, Beckett hauled herself back to her feet and charged after the fleeing Fegetter, shouting at Castle. He bobbed his head, and she continued without him, trusting him to follow.

Bursting out into the hallway, Beckett spotted the tail end of Fegetter's boots as he ran around the corner. "Wait!" she called after him. "You don't have to run. I can help you!"

Her pleas once again fell on deaf ears. Fegetter didn't stop, forcing her to pump her legs to follow after him. She skidded around the corner, coasting a bit on her feet, like a car drifting, and continued on, following him down the hall, flying past berths and quarters. One woman propped open the door, her toothbrush still in her mouth. Fegetter seized the opportunity, grabbed her and yanked her out, tossing her into Beckett's path. She caught the woman before she could fall, quickly righted her, and continued on, seeing Fegetter shoved through one of the airlock doors.

He slammed it behind him, and she rushed forward, reaching out with her right hand to push it open, huffing when it wouldn't budge. Arching up on her toes, she peered through the small viewing window into the vestibule, seeing that Fegetter had propped a shovel against the floor and had levered it against the door to stop her from opening it.

Beckett banged her fist against the metal. "Fegetter!" she shouted, lips curling in frustration. "Let me in!"

The man shook his head. He was panicking, eyes wide as saucers. Beckett slammed her fist against the door again. It wouldn't budge. Inside, Fegetter started grabbing cold weather gear off the racks mounted on the wall.

"I can help you!" Beckett asserted, still pounding against the door.

He ignored her, struggling with pulling the coat down off the hook. Beckett craned her neck to glanced down at the shovel pinned against the door handle, and growled in frustration. In that same instant, a shaft of brilliant daylight flooded the vestibule as the outer door whipped open. Flicking her eyes up, Beckett let out a strangled noise as she saw man, dressed in full ECW gear, appeared in the opening. His features were obscured by a black face mask and goggles. The masked man held an ice axe, poised and ready to strike. Her breath stilled and her heart stopped. It was the same man who attacked her. She just knew it.

"No! Damn it! No!" she pounded her fist against the door, and shoved her shoulder against it. "Fegetter!"

Noticing the intruder, Fegetter bolted towards her, but the door separated them, still blocked and jammed. With a violet swoosh, the mask man buried the tip of the ice axe in Fegetter's shoulder, gaffing him like a fish. His scream of excruciating pain was muffled by the closed door. The villain withdrew his weapon, swinging it around menacingly as he grabbed for him. But Fegetter surprised him, spinning on his attacker like a wild man, bulldozing into him and driving him back out the door. From her vantage point, Beckett watched in horror as both tumbled out into the unforgiving cold.

"Beckett!"

Castle's shout pulled her focus away from the startling image. She turned to see him rushing up to join her.

"The door, it's jammed," she breathed out. "It's not Fegetter." And off his confused look, she explained, "Someone's trying to kill him." Knitting her eyebrows again, she jiggled the door handle and tried pushing it open again, all to no avail.

"Here, let me help," Castle said, gently nudging her back.

Catching what he was going to do, Beckett rolled her eyes, and muttered, "My hero."

He grinned at that, clearly pleased with himself, and flashed her a wink. She allowed him this. He so often had to live in her shadow when it came to heroics, and she knew he liked playing the white knight. Besides, she was pretty beat up right now. And Castle did have nice, broad shoulders… her mind started to wander back to their very pleasurable naked wrestling from just over an hour ago. She shook her head to clear her mind of those distracting images. Stepping back, she watched as he squared his shoulders, and plowed into the door using all his weight. He grunted, and staggered back, clutching his shoulder.

"Don't hurt yourself, Castle," Beckett reprimanded.

"I'm fine," he gritted out, setting his jaw, and glared at his foe.

She squinted at the door. It hadn't opened, but it did give, just a little. Letting out a breath, she nodded. "Okay, again."

Castle grimaced, rubbing his sore shoulder, but nodded. He took some steps back to build up some speed. She had to suppress a smile as she watched him psych himself up. The little bouncing footwork he did was sort of adorable. He waited until she cleared the space before making his run, ramming harder into the metal door. This time it gave, swinging wide open.

Almost immediately Beckett felt the biting blast of the icy polar wind. As Castle fumbled into the vestibule, nearly landing on his face, Beckett stepped over him and rushed for the cold weather gear hanging off the hooks. Quickly donning the large protective jacket, she then worked the gloves over her hands, struggling with her left hand. She bit back a curse, tugged it on hard and fast, wincing as a hot slice of pain rippled up her arm. She was still healing from the amputation, but that was not her main focus at present.

Turning around, she bent at the waist and snatched up the shovel from where it had clattered to the floor after Castle had jarred it loose when he rammed against the door. Seeing as she hadn't had time to retrieve her service weapon, the shovel would have to do.

Castle shouted at her, but she couldn't hear him over the din of howling wind. She shook her head, guessing what he was trying to say, and vigorously disagreeing. He grabbed at her arm when she spun around, but she yanked it back, growling at him like a rabid wolf. That startled him enough to free her. Ignoring his continued protests, Beckett surged through the outer door and out into the harsh wind.

A strong gust slammed into her, nearly knocking her back, but she managed to remain upright. Squinting down the short staircase, Beckett immediately noticed that the bottom landing was vacant. Her heart raced and her chest clenched with worry. Fegetter didn't have any cold weather gear on when he'd tumbled through the open door. Spinning in place, she closed the outer hatch, seeing Castle just starting to pull on a coat. He would follow when he was ready.

She leaned into the wind and clambered down the stairs, stopping momentarily when she encountered the ice axe. It was lodged into the bottom step. Fegetter and the attacker must have struggled during their fall. Flirting her eyes away, she glanced at the snow, trying to make out footprints, but the wind was scattering the snowy fluff over the indentations.

Staring harder, she spotted a few specks of blood. Jerking her head up, Beckett moved forward, gripping the shovel tighter. She stalked underneath the habitat module, following the trail left by Fegetter's blood. Glancing up, she brought her left hand up to shield her eyes from the harsh wind. Just up ahead, staggering around the hydraulic lift column was her man. But he wasn't alone. Marching up behind him was the killer.

Beckett picked up her pace, unable to do anything but watch as the masked man tackled Fegetter from behind. The two fell to the ground, ice and snow flying up as they struggled. Her heart raced as she ran. It was not good. Fegetter had been exposed to the elements for too long. But she had to give it to him, he fought like hell. He punched his assailant in the jaw, making the man fall back, allowing Beckett to gain more ground between them.

Forty yards away, around some storage containers, two people, clad in ECW gear were finishing unloading large boxes from a snowmobile and depositing them into the large orange container. Both seemed oblivious to the life and death struggle occurring not far from them. She tried to shout, get some help, but the howl of the wind was too loud. Clenching her jaw, she pumped her legs and made a direct line towards the spot Fegetter was fighting for his life.

But she was too late. The masked man grappled him from behind, squeezed his arms around his neck and gave a savage twist. Fegetter immediately went limp. Dead.

Beckett charged forward, shovel raised.

The mask man turned, ready to flee, but she plowed into him, swinging the shovel hard against his head. The goggles shattered as he dropped to the ice. She jabbed his side with the butt of the shovel two more times. And just for good measure, she added a wicked kick to his groin, smiling with grim satisfaction as he groaned and grunted in agony, curling in on himself. Eyes fierce and violent, Beckett raised the shovel to strike again, but someone's hands grabbed her from behind, pulling her back.

"Kate," came Castle's voice over the dull roar of wind, coaxing her down from the razor's edge, like he had on that day in Los Angeles. She immediately relaxed. "It's okay. It's okay. You've got him."

Seething out a breath through clenched teeth, she flung the shovel down to the snow-covered ground and turned into Castle's arms, burying her head into his chest, seeking the calm that only he could provide. The tension slowly faded away, and she found her center. Blinking her eyes, she retreated. Beckett glanced up at Castle with large, expressive eyes, thanking him for reeling her back before she did something she regretted.

With cautious steps, Beckett approached the masked man, still dealing with the vicious kick to his crotch. Castle slanted his eyes over to the dead Fegetter, his neck hideously askew. He quickly looked away, shuddering. Beckett bent down and fisted the fabric of the ski mask, yanking it off to reveal the identity of the killer.

She gaped in surprise.

"Russell."

The Australian pilot let out a hiss when his face was exposed to the elements. "Bitch," he seethed, shivering, blood trailing down from his temple, where she'd struck him with the shovel. "I sh… sh… shoulda killed you at Vostok."

Beckett crossed her arms as she glared down at him. "You tried, yeah," she said. "But you failed." She paused, and crouched down to get all up in his face. "Now it's my turn."


	23. Chapter 22

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 22**_

* * *

Kieran Russell sat in the holding room, hands cuffed to a bar on the table. He stared straight ahead, a scowl fixed on his face. Beckett stared at him from behind the small viewing window, arms folded across her chest. She wanted him to simmer in there for a bit before she started her interrogation. Castle was sitting behind her desk, working on his report for the FBI. She closed her eyes, relishing the sound of him typing away. It was music to her ears. She just wished he was writing another adventure for Nikki Heat and Jameson Rook rather than an after-action report.

"I thought you didn't like to do paperwork?" she asked, teasing him with a quirk of her lips.

"I don't," he answered, flicking his eyes up to meet hers. "But alas," he continued with a sigh. "I had to make some concessions with the FBI. Still, not a bad trade-off considering I got to work alongside you again. Always a pleasure watching you work, Kate. There's no one like you." He hummed at that, eyes glazing over, and she just knew he was thinking about something other than investigating a murder.

"So Carrie Stetko won't be getting a book series based off her, then?" she snapped him out of his reverie, eyebrows raised as she watched him for his reaction. It was a little petty of her, but she couldn't help it. Now that he was hers, she was feeling rather possessive.

He chuckled and shook his head. "Kate, how many times do I have to say it, you have no reason to be jealous."

"You were never tempted," she hedged.

Castle shifted, eyes flirting around like a cagey suspect. "Are you interrogating me?"

"It's just a question, Castle," she asked as innocently as she possibly could. "If you have nothing to hide, then why not answer it?"

He hesitated for a moment, narrowing his eyes at her. "I feel like this is a trick question," he asserted.

"I wouldn't blame you, you know… if you had," she went on, lying. She'd be hurt if he had, which seemed silly, but it was the truth. "It has been two years."

"Yes, it has," his forehead wrinkled as he stared off into nothing. Arching an eyebrow, he returned her gaze. "What about you, Beckett? Anyone in your life since… _Josh_?" She smirked at the way he almost spat out her ex-boyfriend's name.

"Now who's jealous?" she countered, laughing lightly at his disgruntled look. But soon took pity on him. "But no," she shook her head. "I haven't really had the time for anything."

"So… just to be clear…?" he prodded after a beat.

She laughed more openly this time, shaking her head as she rolled her eyes. He pouted, and it was adorable. Beckett pursed her lips. "No one, Castle. No one, but you… happy?"

"Very," he grinned gleefully, and feigned seriousness as he added, "And for the record, Marshal, though I've received many an offer, I've remained woefully without sex until a couple of hours ago. So, you know, you owe me… big time. We have an awful lot of time to make up for." He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Beckett bit her lower lip and seductively flicked her eyes up at him. "Good," she declared with nod, a smile escaping despite her best efforts. "Because I'm not done with you, Rick Castle."

Their moment was interrupted when a knock sounded from the door. Beckett quickly schooled her features and glanced over as Base Commander Sam Murphy emerged, stepping into the room. He nodded towards Castle, before cautiously approached Beckett, who tried not to grimace. She really didn't want to deal with him right now.

"Heard you got your man," he said.

Her eyes jerked to Castle and then back to Murphy until she realized he hadn't meant in the romantic sense. "Yeah," she inclined her head, arching her neck to glance back at the glowering Kieran Russell. "We got him."

Murphy scrubbed a hand down his tired face. "Look, Beckett, about what I said earlier," he started, features appropriately contrite.

She held up a hand to stop him. "No need," she cut in before he could apologize. "I understand. We've all been under a tremendous amount of stress."

He inclined his head. "Still, I was out of line."

"Forget it," she all but pleaded, ignoring the smirk working its way across Castle's face while he diligently pretended to be focusing on his email.

"Right," Murphy said. "Well… Good work, Marshal." He held out his hand, and Beckett accepted the peace offer, and shook his hand. Murphy turned to leave, then stopped, glancing back. "Can I lift the lockdown now? We've got a storm coming in fast and I'd like to evac to McMurdo as soon as possible."

"Yeah, go ahead," Beckett allowed with a bob of her head. "Fegetter's dead, and we caught Russell in the act, so yeah… no need for a lockdown anymore."

"Okay, good," he hit his fist against the doorjamb, and left.

"Delightful fellow," Castle harrumphed from behind her desk. "Must have been a real treat working with him all this time."

Beckett shrugged as she walked over to join him, resting her hip against the side of the desk. "This case was really the only time we've ever butted heads," she offered. "I mostly worked with Doc. To be honest, it's actually kind of boring down here."

"Makes you long for the good old days, eh?" he asked, turning his attention back to the computer screen. She didn't even attempt to deny it. His fingers worked quickly over the keyboard, and then he grinned, pressed one more button with a flourish and stood up. "All done. Now," he rubbed his hands together with glee. "I'm very much looking forward to watching you work your magic."

She smiled fiercely, meeting his excited gaze. "With pleasure."

XXX

"My name is Kieran Russell, I'm an Australian citizen, and I demand to speak with my Consulate."

Beckett stood in front of the table, arms crossed, glaring down at him. She'd seen his type before. Arrogant. Smug. He had just killed someone right in front of her, and the prick still believed she couldn't touch him. He thought that all because he was an Australian citizen, he was immune from the wrath of justice. Boy, was he wrong. Dead wrong. His crimes had been committed in international territory, which, thanks to the Antarctic Treaty, gave her, a United States Marshal, jurisdiction. She owned his ass.

"We already spoke with your consulate," Beckett said. They hadn't. Van Decker had done the honors, but what she was going to say was still true. "Considering the circumstances, your Consul waived your protection, and gave us permission to speak to you."

"Bullshit," he snapped back, eyes flashing with rage.

"Oh, it's true," Castle spoke up, already seated at the table, idly flipping through a folder that contained all the information Van Decker could get on the Australian pilot on short notice. He leaned forward, as if confiding a secret to the man. "If I were you, I'd quit while I was ahead. You don't want to go toe to toe with her. Trust me, I know."

Russell merely sneered.

Leaning back, Castle shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Beckett started to pace around the table, relaxed and calm, as if she were just taking a nice stroll. She stopped beside Russell, forcing him to crane his neck to look up at her. His loathing practically radiated off him.

"Where are the canisters?" she asked, voice crisp and precise, hardly any emotion.

It startled him, but he snapped back quickly. "Go to hell."

"Wrong answer," Castle asserted, shaking his head apologetically.

Beckett slowly place a hand on Russell's shoulder, confusing him. His brow furrowed as he stared up at her. She smiled serenely at him, like she was his friend, and then she tightened her grip, making him cry out in alarm as she slammed his head down against the table. WHAM!

"Shit, what the fuck!" he groaned, rattling his head back and forth as she pulled him back. "You can't do that. I have rights! Bitch!"

"Ah, why'd you have to go and say that?" Beckett asked in a singsong voice. She cocked her head and looked at Castle. "You hear that, Castle? I'm a bitch." She glanced back at Russell, feigning a pout. "Now that really hurts my feelings, Russell. Do you know what I do when someone hurts my feelings?" She tightened her grip on his shoulder again.

"Fuck you!"

BAM! She slammed his head down against the table again.

"You're crazy," he moaned, knitting his eyebrows together, nose bleeding.

"Why did you kill those scientists, Russell?" Beckett asked in a firm voice, stalking around to his other side, forcing him to turn his neck to follow her, watching with wary eyes.

If she were back in New York, this sort of treatment of a suspect wouldn't go over well, but considering the situation, she was willing to bend the rules a bit. Besides, down here at the bottom of the world, where she was the only law for miles, she was given a wider margin to work with. And it helped that the Australian government had untied the lease, so to speak, granting her the freedom to tiptoe just over the line of proper procedure when it came to interrogation techniques.

"Was the seven-way split too much for you?" inquired Beckett, curling her fingers against his left shoulder, threatening.

He pursed his lips and defiantly glared back at her, sniffing in an attempt to stop the nose bleed.

Releasing his shoulder, Beckett began her walk back around to the other side of the table. She sat down next to Castle and took the second folder from him. Slow and deliberate, she placed the photos of the _Delta One One_ team between them on the table, reciting each name as she did so.

"Geoff Cassaday. Enric Tallis. Casey Beckcom. Daniel Herrera. Annalise Bettis. Scanlon Fegetter."

His lips curled in a snarl. "I had nothing to do with Herrera. He was dead when I got there."

"Ah," she raised her eyebrows. "So you were there."

He frowned and looked away.

Beckett shook her head and leaned back. "For a guy who's about to go down for five counts of second-degree murder," she said, playing up an astonished expression, "I think you should be a little more interested in helping us out. Juries like that." She waited for him to respond, and when he didn't, she dove right into her first question. "What did you find in that plane?"

He remained silent for a long beat, before cocking his head and staring directly at her.

"So, Marshal," Russell spoke, a hint of amusement flashing in his eyes. "Remember the strip search you owe me?" He lowered his chin and gazed purposely at her bandaged hand. And then he winked saucily, smirking at her. "I reckon you'd be good for it now that you're missing a couple of parts."

She sensed Castle tense beside her. Russell grinned, and wiggled his eyebrows in delight.

"Hit a nerve, did I?" he whistled, taunting Castle.

Out of the corner of her eye, Beckett noticed Castle's hands clench into fists. Russell turned his attention back to her.

"I recognize that look," he grinned lasciviously. Russell glanced delightedly between the two of them, and then winked at Castle. "You fucked her, didn't you? Boy, oh, boy. Lucky bastard. I mean, sure that left hand's kind of gross now, but damn… she's still one hot piece of ass. Am I right, mate?"

"I'm not your mate?" Castle growled through gritted teeth, looking like he wanted to throttle him.

Needing to control the situation, Beckett reached out and placed a hand on Castle's arm. The touch gained his attention, and he looked at her, nostrils flaring, eyes hard with fury. "He's baiting you," she said in a soft voice, so only Castle could hear. "Relax."

He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, but obeyed her, swallowing his anger as he turned back to meet Russell with a heated glare. Uncertain how long she could contain her partner's fury, Beckett reached over for the folder. She took out the faxed photo of the canisters. She looked over it one more time before placing them on top of the photographs of the _Delta One One_ team, tapping it with her pointer finger.

"Where is the uranium?"

Russell's eyes flicked down and he stared at the grainy image on the fax paper. A smug smirk formed on his lips and the bastard actually chuckled.

"You have no idea what's going on here, do you?"

Beckett pushed on. "We know you flew out to Section 104. You tell me how things went down, and maybe I talk to the magistrate."

He shrugged, glancing over at her with a disinterested look. "Where's the fun in that," he grinned, winking at her. "You've got a nice mouth, Marshal. Bet you give great head."

Castle nearly lurched out of his chair, ready to pound the guy senseless, but Beckett grabbed his thigh under the table, holding him back. Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to bring Castle into interrogation with her. His emotions were too close to the surface, making him far too easy to provoke off topic. Russell watched the exchanged with a bemused smirk.

"Boy, does she have you on a tight leash," he chuckled.

Beckett stood up, slowly, commanding the room, like she had back in New York. She stalked around the table and approached Russell. He pursed his lips, growing quiet, leery of her close proximity. He talked a big game. But in the end, he was just a coward. She could see it in his eyes, the fear, the uncertainty of not knowing what would happen next. Beckett smiled beneficently at him, masking her own revulsion. He disgusted her.

She placed a hand lightly on his shoulder, suppressing a grin, pleased when he flinched. "You think you're funny, don't you?"

He licked his lips nervously as she lifted her hand away and continued, making her circuit back around the room, letting him mull over his options. As he watched her with wary eyes, she retook her seat by Castle and leaned back, relaxed and in control.

"What?" she demanded, raising her brows. "No witty comeback?"

Russell shifted in his chair, and dropped his gaze. "My name is Kieran Russell, I'm an Australian citizen."

In a flash, Beckett reached over and grabbed his thumb. Brow set, and teeth clenched, she glared at him. His lips thinned and sweat beaded on his forehead as he read the threat in her eyes.

"Let's see if you're still playing cute when you're missing some bits," she snarled, and twisted his thumb hard, grinning satisfyingly when she heard the bone snap.

"Ah, you bitch! You crazy bitch!" he screamed.

"What did you do with the canisters, huh?" she asked sweetly, grabbing another finger and pinching hard, turning it back enough to hurt without breaking it, yet. "Where did you hide them?"

"All right, all right, alright!" he cried, eyes wide, staring down at his hand. "Shit, man. They're in my gear. I hid them in my goddamn gear."

She released his hand and leaned back in her chair, smiling. "See, now was that so hard?"


	24. Chapter 23

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 23**_

* * *

Castle stood, glaring through the viewing window as Beckett returned the files to her desk. She glanced back at him and frowned, worried. He had been silent since they finished the interview. With a quick flick of her eyes, she could tell that his hands were still clenched into fists. Sighing, she walked up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He startled, but relaxed when he looked up at her.

"You okay?" she asked.

He worked his jaw, setting his hard gaze back through the viewing window, staring at Russell. "I'm fine."

"Forget it, Castle," she advised. "He was just trying to get under your skin."

"Yeah," he scoffed, grumbling. "I know. I'm sorry. I let him get to me."

Sighing, she squeezed his shoulder again, not knowing what else she could do to comfort him. Maybe he needed to be angry. Focusing that rage helped fuel her drive when she was running on empty. She glanced up at him again, not liking the way the hard set of his brow twisted his handsome features. The last time she'd seen him like this was when they'd been interrogating Vulcan Simmons. She had been the one to lose control there, but Castle had been on a knife's edge as well.

"Rick," she spoke softly, using his first name to garner his attention. He glanced at her, eyes dark. "Don't let what he said soil what we did."

He swallowed, and she watched the motion of his throat as he did so. She watched him work through his own issues, before nodding. "I won't," he assured.

"Good," she smiled, tenderly brushing her fingertips along his jaw. "Because I love you, Richard Castle. And when all this is over, I want a repeat performance."

That earned her a smile, and she was pleased to see the darkness fade from his blue eyes, and the return of that boyish twinkle that was so uniquely him. She beamed, and pushed up on her toes, sealing her mouth to his in a kiss, though quick, still full of meaning.

The sound of a throat clearing had them both turning towards the source, finding Murphy standing in the doorway, breathing heavily. Beckett pursed her lips, still tasting Castle on her tongue, and tried not to blush. Public displays of affection weren't exactly her favorite thing in the world. But she wasn't embarrassed to be with Castle. Far from it.

"What is it?" she asked, letting her hand slip down to her side, stepped back to create a little more distant between them now that they had company.

"Storm's on our ass," he explained. "We gotta get moving. Now."

Beckett shook her head, waving a hand to ward off the statement. "But we can't leave without those canisters."

"We don't have time for that," Murphy protested with a vigorous shake of his head. "We'll just search the plane in Christchurch when it lands."

"No good," Castle stepped in, eyes narrowed. "It's a twelve hour flight to Christchurch. Anything can happen in that time."

She agreed. "Russell is here, so we know it's still on the ground," she added, hoping to persuade the base commander. "Once that plane is in the air, we've as good as lost it."

Murphy's face pinched. "Fine," he huffed out, throwing his hands up. "Fifteen minutes. That's all I can give you."

She nodded, grateful. "I'll take it."

Castle touched her arm. "I'm going to see if any of his bags made it to the transport." He moved his hand up to her shoulder and gently squeezed, an attempt to reassure her that he was all right. Their eyes met and a silent form a communication passed between them.

After a beat, Beckett nodded, knowing he could handle it while she took care of things here. "Okay, go."

Castle bobbed his head and stepped away.

Murphy shifted to let him pass. He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply through his nose. "Hold up, I'll go with you," he said. Castle halted in the doorway, turning back to stare expectantly at the base commander. Murphy sighed, and looked back at Beckett as if thinking of something else. "This storm forced us to rush the evac, you might want to check his berth."

"I'll do that," Beckett nodded.

Still concerned with holding up the plane, Murphy inclined his head and then turned to follow Castle out the door.

"Sam," Beckett called, stopping the base commander. He turned back and glanced at her, brows raised. "Thanks."

He nodded, face solemn, and then said, "See you on the plane."

After they left, Beckett turned to her desk and grabbed her walkie-talkie off it, clipping it to her belt. Sparing Russell one more glance, she stalked out of her office. She rushed for the closest stairwell, gripping the railing for support with her right hand as she jumped down the steps, moving as quickly as possible. Hitting the floor of Level 1, Beckett took a right and rushed down the main corridor. Amundsen-Scott Base was empty. It was strange having it so quiet. She was used to having to weave around people, remembering how sometimes these tight corridors could become packed.

Reaching the Level 1 living quarters, Beckett hooked to the right, skidding on her heels. Her boots pounded on the metal plating and echoed through the hallways. Turning left, she bounced off the corner and found Russell's berth. Raising her leg up, Beckett kicked in the door, not even bothering to attempt picking the lock. There was no time for that.

Moving fast, she rifled through the drawers on the small dresser by the door. Bending down, she pulled bins out from under the bunk, tossed clothing and books around. Opening the small closet, Beckett pulled out the shirts and jackets hanging there, unceremoniously dumping them on the floor. Sighing, she put her hands on her hips and glanced around the room, desperately searching for anything. Her eyes alighted on a dark duffel on top of the bunk.

"Shoulda searched this first," she grumbled, disappointed in herself.

Reaching forward with her right hand, she unzipped the bag. Parting the opening, she dove inside, hunting for the canisters. Having difficulty searching the interior of the bag with only one good hand, Beckett grabbed it with her with right hand and turned it upside down, dumping the contents onto the mattress. She growled, finding nothing but clothing and toiletries.

Tossing the duffel aside, Beckett stormed out of the room. She made her way back to her office with quick feet. Opening the door, she stepped in and stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide as she stared at the holding room. The door was wide open, and the room was empty. The cuffs dangled off the bar on the table, and there was no sign of Kieran Russell.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," she muttered.

Shoving into the room, she went for the gun safe, and punched in the passcode. The lid slid open, and she reached in, grabbing her Glock. Her eyes flicked up to the slit of a window, seeing the last few people boarding the cargo plane. She was running out of time.

"Shit."

Heart in her throat, Beckett shot out of her office. With alert eyes, she scanned the empty hallways and corridors, making her way towards the operations center. The door stood ajar, and she inched forward, controlling her breathing. Arching up on her toes, she peeked through the gap, seeing no one. Still cautious, Beckett nudged the door open and slip through, raising her weapon up in the ready position. She looked around, seeing nothing but an empty room. But as she slowly turned around to search the other side of the room, she stopped, hearing a muffled groan.

Moving quickly, she rounded the computer terminal and froze. Jerking her eyes down to the floor, her heart jumped into her throat and panic began to fill her insides. Castle was sprawled on the floor, blood pooling out from a nasty gash along his upper chest and shoulder.

"Castle!"

She immediately dropped to her knees, and knelt over him, pressing the two remaining fingers on her left hand to his neck to check for a pulse. She sighed, relief flooding through her. It was there, weak, but steady. Her eyes roamed back to the wound, and her face crumbled with worry. It was a vicious cut. Her body trembled with grief and rage. She bent over him, touching his face. Desperate.

"Castle, stay with me," Beckett begged, tears forming in her eyes. "Stay with me. I can't lose you now. I love you. Stay with me, goddamn it."

She closed her eyes and doubled over him, pressing her forehead to his as she prayed to whatever powers that were out there to save him. She'd had precious little time with him. She wanted more. Damn it, she wanted a lifetime with him. She could not lose him. Not now. Not ever. He was her always.

Her ears twitched as she heard the pounding of footfalls approaching from her left. Curling her fingers around her gun, Beckett sat up and twisted her torso, hissing through her teeth as the scar along her side pulled viciously. She raised her weapon, and deftly aimed at the source. Reggie Talbot skidded to a stop, holding up his hands.

"Whoa! It's me," he said. He was holding cloth bandages in one hand.

Beckett merely glared at him, keeping her aim steady, eyebrows firmly set, distrusting. All she knew was that Castle had been attacked and Reggie was the only person in the vicinity.

"I went looking for Doc," Reggie continued, pleading with his eyes for her to believe him. "I couldn't find him." He cocked his head. "You really think I'd do this?"

"Okay, sorry," she lowered the gun after a long beat. From everything she'd learned about the pilot, and seeing how he'd reacted to the dead bodies they'd encountered, Beckett knew he wasn't capable of this.

Reggie rushed forward with the medical supplies, hurriedly kneeling down by Castle, and started pressing the cloth into the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

Castle's eyes fluttered open, and he groaned. "Kate?"

"Castle," she bent down, her hand shaking as she carefully cupped his jaw. "Stay still. You've been stabbed."

"Russell," he gasped. "He escaped."

"Shh," she soothed, caressing the side of his face, reaching up to brush the flop of hair away from his forehead. "I know. I know. Save your strength."

Leaning back, Beckett unclipped the radio from her belt. Pressing the button, she held it up to her mouth. "Doc, we need you in the operations center. Castle's hurt."

There was a crackle of static before Marston's voice filtered through. " _What happened?_ "

"He's been stabbed," Beckett answered. She glanced down at Castle, watching as his eyes fluttered closed. "Doc, hurry," her voice tinged with panic. "He's bleeding badly."

" _I'm on my way, Kate, hang in there_ ," Marston replied.

"What's going on?" Reggie asked, brow furrowed in confusion as he handed Beckett some of the cloths to help him put pressure on the shoulder wound. "I was just making one last sweep through the base, and I found him like this."

Beckett gritted her teeth. "Russell escaped."

"Shit, man," Reggie shook his head. "I always knew that Aussie was bad news."

She grabbed more of the cloth bandages from the pile on the floor and spread them over the vicious slash along his upper chest and shoulder, pressing hard to staunch the bleeding. Castle's head lulled back and forth and he groan. Hearing it, Beckett grimaced. She hated causing him pain, but at least it proved he was still alive. She needed him to stay that way.

"You're a fighter, Rick," she reminded him, bent over, desperately hissing hot, frantic breaths across his cheek. "You have so much to live for. Alexis. Martha. Me. Stay, Castle. Stay."

It hit her then, how similar this situation was to when she'd been shot and it had been him pleading with her to stay, telling her he loved her. His eyelids fluttered and his blue eyes stared up at her. A weak smile worked its way onto his lips.

"Not going anywhere," he wheezed, grimacing, but maintaining the smile. His eyes twinkled as he refocused on her. "Promised you another round."

She almost laughed, tears slipping down her cheeks as she nodded. "Yes, you did."

Just then, the door swung open and Dr. Marston came rushing in with a medical kit. He scanned the room and spotted them. Striding over, he placed a gentle hand on Beckett's shoulder.

"Kate, give me some room," he asked.

Biting her lower lip, she nodded, bending to press a quick kiss to Castle's lips before reluctantly moving back and giving the doctor the space to work. She sat back on her haunches and watched as Marston leaned over Castle to examine the wound. The low muffled roar of the blizzard could be heard through the reinforced walls of the base. It was almost upon them. Beckett already knew it. They'd ran out of time. The crackling static squawk of the radio sliced into the silence of the room, and Sam Murphy's voice sounded from it.

" _Beckett, where the hell are you?_ " he questioned, frenzied. " _Where's Doc?_ "

She raised the radio to her mouth and pressed the button, and answered with a steady voice belying the rapid jackhammering of her heart. "He's with us. We're still inside."

" _You gotta leave_ ," Murphy insisted. " _The base is locking down_."

"We can't," she replied, eyes narrowing as she glanced around the room. "Russell's loose. He attacked Castle." She pursed her lips and gazed down at Castle, feeling her breath hitch with worry. She looked to Reggie and Doc. Marston offered a slight nod. "Look, Sam, we're not going to make it to the plane."

" _Beckett, listen to me_ ," Murphy said, his voice crackling over the radio. " _If we leave, you're stuck here all winter_."

Beckett watched as Marston worked over Castle with Reggie's assistance. She bit her lower lip and swallowed, and then hardened her eyes.

"We know," she answered.

Static filled the room, and then Murphy's voice echoed out, soft and understanding. " _Good luck. Be careful_." And then he was gone.

Marston shifted on his knees. "All right," he said. "I've got him stabilized, but we need to get him to the med-bay." He glanced at Reggie, who nodded.

Beckett placed her hand over her heart as she watched the two men get into position. On the count of three, they lifted Castle up off the floor. For a man of his advanced years, Marston was surprisingly strong, supporting Castle's broad shoulders while Reggie took the author's legs. Knitting her eyebrows together in concern, Beckett trailed after them, comforted with the fact she knew Castle was in good hands with Dr. Marston. As they exited the operations center, she idly scanned the room, just taking one more look.

Her feet stopped moving as she spotted something out a place. An odd sock.

A small locker had been forcibly busted open. She frowned, stepping forward to investigate. The locker held the keys to all the various vehicles on sight, from the caterpillar snowcats to the sleek snowmobiles, including the twin propeller planes that ferried people about to different camps and outposts spread across Antarctica. Her eyes narrowed as she stared down at the locker.

One key was missing.


	25. Chapter 24

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 24**_

* * *

She watched, heart in her throat, as Dr. Marston and Reggie carried an unconscious Castle down the main corridor towards the tubed umbilical connection between the modules, going from Building B into Building A, where the medical bay was. She would have followed, stayed by his side, but there was a killer to catch. And Kieran Russell had made a grave mistake by attacking Richard Castle, making this deeply personal for her. Clenching her jaw, and setting her brow, Beckett spun on her heels, trusting the care of the man she loved in the hands of her friend the doctor.

If anyone could save Castle, it was Dr. Mark Marston.

Retreating back to the operations center, she retrieved her Glock, holstering it as she clipped the radio to her belt. Moving her legs at a quick pace, she returned to her office and grabbed her parka off the back of her desk chair. Striding back out into the hall, Beckett shrugged the jacket on as she made her way towards the nearest stairwell, hastily making her way down to the first level of the building.

At the bottom of the landing, she turned left and pushed through the airlock doors into the rear vestibule. Narrowing her eyes, her suspicions were confirmed when she saw that there was one set of extreme cold weather gear missing from the hanger and cubby. Grabbing one of the thick coats, she rolled her shoulders, wincing slightly as she pushed her left hand through the sleeve. She then strapped on a harness, hissing through her teeth as she secured it tightly around her waist. Frowning, she worked the gloves onto her hands, struggling just a bit with her left hand, before properly securing the Velcro seals around her wrists. She tugged on a pair of goggles, forgoing the face mask at this time.

A klaxon sounded over the intercom, and an automated message issued out of the speakers: _WARNING. STATION IS NOW IN EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN. STATION-WIDE EVACUATION IS IN EFFECT. REPEAT. STATION IS NOW IN EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN_.

Beckett peered out the viewing window on the side wall of the vestibule, catching sight of the Lockheed LC-130 taking off and disappearing into the growing haze of ice and snow as the blizzard approached Amundsen-Scott Base. It was close. Very close. And she knew that since Russell had taken the keys to his plane, the bastard was going to try and beat the storm, effectively slipping out of her grasp.

Pulling both hoods up over her head, Beckett stepped over to the outer door and yanked it open with her right hand. A blast of cold wind burst into the room, nearly knocking her onto her ass. She hunched her shoulders and leaned into it, exiting the ready room and making her way across the rear platform towards the steps.

She squinted, feeling the icy fingers caress her cheeks as her breath fogged in front of her face. Squinting, she could barely make out the features of the domed hangar in the distance. Beckett almost cursed. This blizzard was bringing with it another whiteout. Her heart stuttered and her stomach clenched unnervingly at the memories of her last experience in a whiteout. Gritting her teeth, she stifled the anxieties, and pushed forward, grabbing the railing to haul herself down to the snow. At the bottom landing, a stake protruded from the ground with rope-line branching off in several directions. Each line buckled and swayed violently in the wind.

Picking out the correct line, Beckett grabbed the wildly ripping rope and held it steady, jaw clenched and eyes determined as she clipped the tether to it. She tugged at it, making sure it was fixed, before glaring up through the white snow flurries plummeting around her, warning of the tumult rapidly approaching. Gripping the line with one hand, she took off at an easy jog, watching the warmth of her breath fog in front of her eyes.

The wind grew stronger and fiercer the further away from the base she got. There was less around her to help buffer and shield her from the powerful grip of the approaching storm. She could barely make out the dome of the hangar. Her heart beat profoundly beneath her breast and her legs burned from working through the growing pact of snow, slowing her down. She ground her teeth, growling as she fought through it, ignoring the frosty bite of the wind against her exposed cheeks.

Huffing for breath, she glanced up and nearly froze in place, gaping in terror at the massive wall of white rearing up behind the hangar like a tsunami cresting before crashing into the shore. The blizzard was nearly upon her. She didn't know if she was going to be able to make it all the way across the line before it hit. Ducking her head down, she steeled herself from the onslaught.

Forty-three seconds later, the whiteout struck. The storm roared and howled around her like a savage beast, blasting small flecks of snow and ice up into the air, obscuring her vision. She held onto the rope-line so hard that the muscles in her arms ached with the effort. Hunching her shoulders, she leaned her body into the fierce winds, and trudged onwards, relentless. Her ferocity and dogged determination were one of her strength. Castle had called her extraordinary. She believed him.

She would always believe him.

Plowing ahead, she stumbled the last few feet before reaching shelter, gasping for breath and shivering. Whiteouts were terrible things. She had barely survived the first time by the skin of her teeth. It had only been her strength of will that had kept her going, just as it did now. She pushed her goggles up to her forehead, clearing her vision as she blinked and glanced around the lofty hangar. Unclipping the tether, Beckett dashed inside the opened hangar bay, swinging her arms as her boots pounded the ground as she ran down the row of planes, eyes wide and alert as she searched for the Australian pilot.

She spotted the tail of the Twin Otter with his call number, and slowed, whipping her gun out of her holster. Bending her knees slightly, Beckett held her posture at the ready. She brought her left hand up to steady her aim and snarled, letting out a disgruntle hiss when she needed to adjust her hold to compensate for her missing fingers. Thankfully her right hand—the dominant one—was still intact. Narrowing her eyes, she swept to the left, ready to shoot first. She was done with asking questions. He had attacked Castle. Any leniency she might have shown him was now gone.

Seeing no sign of Russell, Beckett scanned the rest of the vicinity, before approaching the plane. She gripped the handle and opened the back latch. Lifting her right leg, she hoisted herself up and quickly pounced into the cockpit. It was empty. She swept her gaze across the instrument panel, noting that he had been prepping for launch. But he'd missed his opportunity once the whiteout had hit the base, engulfing them in strong winds and zero visibility.

With a frustrated growl, Beckett ducked back out of the plane, not even bothering to close the latch behind her. Raising her gun, she spread out, away from the plane, performing a careful and methodical search, combing the entire building for the arrogant pilot. She was working her way back to the entrance when she spotted him, diving through the gap between two snowcats. She aimed and fired, missing, the bullets ricocheting off the caterpillar treads.

She swore, and took off after him, running between the vehicles. Holding her weapon up, she whipped around the corner, only to see him hoofing it towards the opened hangar gate. Her stomach twisted. He was going to try and beat her back to the base and lock her out.

Beckett quickly holstered her weapon, running as fast as her long legs would allow, while pulling her hood back into place over her head. Tugging the goggles back down over her eyes, she lowered her shoulders and plunged back out into the storm. Swaying slightly, she almost lost her footing, but managed to keep her balance and reached the rope-line. With shaking hands, Beckett fumbled with the harness, hissing and growling until she managed to clip the tether securely to the line. The wind was blowing much harder now, worse than when she had been at Vostok. This storm was much more powerful than that one had been.

She could barely make out his dark form as she trudged after him, heart pounding and legs burning with the effort. The flurries intensified, whiting out her vision, and Russell disappeared from her sights. Clenching her jaw, Beckett moved forward, hand over hand as she pulled herself along the rope-line. The faint outline of Building B came into view after thirty-six seconds. Soon she was slumping against the railing, heaving in deep icy breaths, her lungs protesting with each chilly inhale.

Unclipping the harness from the line, she hauled herself up the steps, one at a time. The wind pounded into her back, forcing her to almost crawl up the stairs to the platform. She stumbled, nearly falling, as she staggered to the door. She grabbed the latch and pulled. Nothing. It didn't budge. She slammed her fist against the cold hard metal, and cursed. The stupid automated system had locked the doors.

Turning around, Beckett ducked her head and held up a hand to shield her face as she walked back into the wind. It grabbed and tugged at her, trying to tackle her, but she clenched her teeth and dug in, using all her resolve to keep her forward momentum going until she reached the stairs and made it back down to the storm-line stake. She stepped over the line that went straight out to the hangar, and clipped her harness to a rope that should, after taking a turn at an interchange, take her underneath the modules and towards one of the side entrances.

As she stalked along the line, Beckett's began to ache from the effort of pulling herself along the line. She could only see a few inches in front of her. It was extremely disorienting. Her pulse quickened with the terror of being swallowed up and lost forever. But she reminded herself that she had something worth fighting for. She had Castle, and a future with him that she so desperately wanted. Marston should have him stabilized by now. All she needed to do was deal with Russell, and the rest of their winter could be spent recovering from this terrible ordeal and making up for lost time.

A black tarp flew out of nowhere, flapping aggressively in the wind. It sailed toward her, like a hooded banshee, coming to take her away. She hooked her body down and dodged it, releasing a startle cry as the edge lashed at her back like a cracking whip. She hissed and collapsed forward, landing head first in a puff of snow. The scar along her side pulled, sending a white-hot slice of pain through her veins. Shaking her head, Beckett breathed through her teeth and slowly regained her senses. Grunting, she fumbled back to her feet, blindly groping for the rope-line.

Gasping, she huddled in on herself, leaning her body into the strong blow of the wind. Blinking, she stared ahead, seeing more debris start emerging out of the hail of white. She weaved and bobbed, dodging as much as she could. The evacuation had been hurried by the storm, and in their rush that staff hadn't been able to properly secure a number of things that they had to leave behind. Beckett held onto the rope for dear life, and managed to scrape by just barely. Breathing heavily, she tried to calm her rapidly beating heart as she trudged forward, reaching the first junction.

She grabbed the stake's grip with her right hand, needing its strength to keep her steady as she fumbled with her left hand and her two remaining fingers and thumb to hook the second tether to another line. Beckett was very pleased with the speed with which she worked, managing to unclip the line and transfer herself to the next line over with relative ease. But as she was stepping over to begin her trek, the line suddenly snapped rigid.

A gasp escaped her mouth as she glanced up, following the stretch of rope until it disappeared into the milky whiteness. She loosened her grip on the line and glared down at it, feeling it jerk several times as someone on the other end yanked at it. She pursed her lips, and smiled. Carefully, Beckett started forward, using steady and measured steps. If she played her cards right, she could hold back and take him unawares. Through the thick flurries of snow and ice, Beckett spied several large crates and trunks stacked against the side of the building's lower clamps. She kept an eye on them, wary.

Her worry was justified, when a strong gust bowled into them, knocking the smallest trunk off, sending it bouncing towards her like a ricocheting bullet. She managed to avoid it by swaying to the left, but in the process, threw off her balance. The wind slammed into her hard, taking her feet out from under her. She went flying up into the air, landing hard on her back. The wind grabbed at her, pulling her backwards. The tether harness held, but the rope went violently taut, stealing her element of surprise.

Grunting, she scrambled to her knees and crawled back to the junction pole, stretching her arm out to grab it. Beckett grimaced and hissed as she heaved herself up to her feet. She had to move fast now, any chance she had to take Russell unawares had vanished. With trembling hands, she fastened her harness to the original line, pulling her leg up to step over the taut rope to move around to the opposite side of the metal stake.

Hooking her left arm around the rope to secure herself, Beckett carefully pulled her gun out with her right hand. Somewhere in the distance metal banged against metal, probably more unfastened crates crashing about in the tumult. She kept her focus on what was in front of her, what little she could see. Fighting around the onslaught of wind, Beckett firmed up her stance and raised her Glock, deciding to wait for Russell to come to her.

A buzz sounded from somewhere, barely audible over the roar of the wind and hail. In an instant, her world was inundated with bright light as the floodlights alongside the modules flicked on. Beckett cried out, blinded, ducking her head down. The unexpected assault on her senses turned out to be very fortuitous, because at that moment, with a raging snarl, Kieran Russell emerged out of the whiteness, swinging his ice axe at her. Since she'd just ducked her head, he missed her by mere inches.

Stumbling back, he howled like a madman, and reared back for another strike. Using her legs to flip around, Beckett swung up into a firing position. However, she had been too slow. Russell rammed down on her, and she was forced to push her arm out to block the blow. Their arms collided and the impact force her grip to relax. Her Glock when flying out of her hand, bouncing out of view and disappearing into the pandemonium of wind and ice all around her.

Beckett fell, letting out a cry as her back hit the hard ground. She rolled away as he slashed at her. Kicking her legs, she dug her boots into the ice and pushed, scrambling out of reach. Turning around, still tethered to the line, she made a retreat. Russell moved to follow her, brandishing the ice axe menacingly, but his pursuit was halted after a few steps when he was jerked backwards. Beckett suppressed a grin as she realized his harness was still hooked to the opposite line.

Taking advantage of the delay, Beckett scrambled away on her hands and knees, moving much faster than she would if she'd taken the time to get back up to her feet. Her heart jackhammered in her chest, and her breath came out in stammering pants, but she fought on, fighting against the pull of the wind. She could hear the crunch of ice and snow from his stomping boots behind her. And to her astonishment, Beckett spotted her gun just within reach. It was wedged up against a boulder. She lurched forward in a desperate grab.

"No you don't!" Russell yelled over the tumult, and grabbed the rope-line, tugging hard to pull her back, just out of reach. He quickly rushed up and kicked the gun away, sending it skidding into the whiteness, forever lost.

Seething, Beckett grasped his leg around the ankle and yanked hard, pulling his feet out from under him. He cried out as he fell backwards, landing with a thud beside her. Beckett moved fast, clambering away from him. Faintly through the turmoil, she spotted another stack of trunks and boxes that had been left behind outside, abandoned in the crew's haste to leave the South Pole before the storm struck. Frantic for anything to use to defend herself, Beckett lunged for the closest trunk. She could barely make out the lettering along the front side of the flat gray box, and she pursed her lips in a tight smile.

 _How appropriate_ , she thought.

She reached the trunk just as Russell managed to get back to his feet. He staggered for moment, fighting the wind. Hastily, moving as fast as she was able, straining against the growing fatigue and exhaustion, Beckett reached the plastic trunk, and unhooked the latch, flipping the lid open. Grinning, she grabbed the ice axe she knew would be in there. She had to remind herself to thank Murphy for issuing an emergency evacuation. The hasty departure had left all sorts of goodies out here for her disposal.

Her muscles screamed with the effort, but she managed to convince them to move as she turned around just as Russell came at her. She screamed, fury bubbling up inside her, swinging the ice axe at him. He jerked back, but the blade caught on the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Her breath hitched. The canisters. She tightened her grip on the handle, but he pulled back, wrenching it from her grasp. The momentum propelled her forward, sending her face first into the snow.

Russell laughed, looming over her, tauntingly swinging his weapon.

"Now you die, bitch!"

He pulled his arm back, preparing to strike.

"Not now, asshole," Beckett gritted her teeth and rolled away from his reach.

He howled in rage, tugged the ice axe back out of the ground and stalked towards her as she pushed herself up to her feet. She hunched her body, rolled her shoulders and loosened her stance, bouncing on the balls of her feet, ready for a fight. He came at her, swinging wildly, unhinged. She dodged the first blow, and struck his side with a hard fist. Spinning around, feeling her tether yank tight against the rope, Beckett prepared for the next attack.

This time Russell came at her with a different approach—swinging the ice axe low, aiming for her stomach. She blocked the attack, but soon learned it was a diversion. He rammed his fist into her face, sending her sprawling backwards into the snow. She hit the ground with a grunt, and immediately kicked her legs up, jabbing her boots into his chest. He went down with a curse, thrashing wildly. The blade of his ice axe swiped through the rope-line, severing it.

Their support gave way, and Beckett dug her heels into the ground, grasping desperately at the flailing rope for purchase when the gusting winds grabbed at them. Unable to latch on to anything, Russell went flying into the void. The rope soon slipped from her grasp as well, and Beckett plunged into the storm, tumbling after him, unable to stop the momentum from carrying her away.

She spun around, her world a blur until she collided with the solid support structure of a hydraulic lift holding up one of the habitat modules. Gasping for breath, Beckett shook her head, stunned. Grappling for a handhold, she heaved herself up to her feet and peered out into the blizzard. Nothing but the bleak whiteness met her gaze. She stood there, clutching at the cables and pipes. Her chest rose and fell as her breath fogged before her flushed face. Beneath all her layers, her body was covered in sweat. All she wanted to do was lay down and rest, but she couldn't. She needed to find her way back inside, back to Castle.

Glaring through the flurry of ice and snow, and other detritus, Beckett waited for an opening. The winds slowed just a bit to reveal the location of the nearest rope-line. Flattening herself on the ground, Beckett set her course, and used her long legs to launched herself in the right direction. She hurtled across the ice headfirst, like an Olympic skeleton athlete, skidding and sliding, veering slightly off target, but in the end, she reached the rope-line. Snagging it with one hand, she grunted as she bounced back, her shoulder sockets protesting the strain.

Working fast, she clipped herself to the line, and stood up, swaying against the burst of wind that nearly knocked her back off her feet. She gripped the line and spun around, heading in what she hoped was the right direction. Her entire body ached, and she hunched her shoulders against the assaulting winds. When she glanced up again, a curse left her lips.

"Fuck," she hissed. "You've got to be kidding me."

Russell emerged out of the flurries in a mad rush. He screamed, holding the ice axe high above his head. Beckett ducked down, avoiding the swing, and, in a quick action, grabbed the handle of the pick stuck to the duffel bag and tugged, hard. It was enough to jar it free. She then grabbed the bag's strap and yanked it off his shoulder.

"Hey!" he snarled.

Beckett jabbed her elbow into his solar plexus, and jumped back out of his reach as he swung his ice axe at her. She kept retreating, avoiding his attacks. But she knew she needed to strike back soon. Summoning up all her reserve, she plowed into him, ramming her shoulder against his, knocking him off his feet. She shouldered the duffel and raised the ice axe in her right hand. His head jerked up as he noticed she wasn't aiming for him. Panic tinged his voice as he spoke.

"Wait, no, don't—"

His pleas were cut off when she swung the ice axe down and sliced the blade through his tether. He screamed as the wind hurtled him away from her. She watched him slide uncontrollably along the ice, skidding and spinning until he rammed hard against one of the support beams underneath the habitat module. She grimaced as his back arched violently, and his flailing arms went limp. His body swayed there for a bit, held in place by the metal beam, until another strong gust of wind blew in and wrenched him away.

Beckett stood there, heaving in deep breaths, too exhausted to celebrate her victory. All she could do was lean into the wind, blindly watching as Kieran Russell was swallowed up by the all-consuming whiteness.


	26. Chapter 25

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 25**_

* * *

She sat alone in the medical bay, illuminated by one single light, pensively watching Castle sleep. He looked so relaxed and peaceful. It warmed her heart to see him breathing on his own. Dr. Marston had done amazing work stopping the bleeding and stitching up the gash along his upper pectoral and shoulder. However, he would have a scar. But knowing Castle, he'd probably be super giddy about it, proclaiming it to be a badge of honor, and proof that he could be badass as well. And while she'd laugh and roll her eyes, placating him, truth was it scared the living hell out of her. This was not what she wanted for him. He didn't need to prove himself to her by being badass. She loved him as he was. He didn't need to be anything else.

Sighing, Beckett leaned forward, dusting her fingertips down the side of his handsome face, hoping and praying he'd be okay. His eyes fluttered open at her touch. A frown marred his features for a second or two before he noticed her sitting beside him. His lips quirked up into a weak smile.

"Hey," he croaked out, voice hoarse.

"Hey," she echoed back, smiling softly, eyes soft and tender. Picking up a small cup on a tray table beside her, Beckett held it up to his lips, tipping it back so he could take a sip of water.

He leaned back, eyes closed, licking his lips as he swallowed. Her eyes followed the motion of his throat, latching on to it as further evidence that he was alive. He breathed steadily and opened his eyes, staring up at her expectantly.

"You get him?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah," she nodded, meeting his eyes. "I got him."

Castle beamed at her, the pride unmistakable. "I knew you would," he asserted. "You're the best."

She ran her tongue over her teeth, grinning down at him. "You're not so bad yourself, Castle."

And then Beckett scooted closer, slanting her mouth over his, kissing him hard and fast. He brought a hand up to cradle the back of her skull to deepen the kiss, but then abruptly pulled away, dropping back to the bed, groaning. Beckett soothed him as best she could, knowing a little of what he was going through.

"Hurts?" she asked.

"Yeah," he grunted, arching his neck to look down at the bandages taped over the left side of his chest. "How bad was it?"

"Pretty bad," Beckett decided to be honest. "I thought I was going to lose you."

"But you didn't," Castle insisted. "You're stuck with me."

"I better be," she murmured back, grabbing his hand with hers as she tangled their fingers together.

She brushed her lips across his knuckles, and then held his hand to her cheek, allowing herself time to simply relish the warmth of his flesh and the steady beat of his pulse. He was alive. And then, because she couldn't help it, she stood up and arched over his prone form, capturing his mouth in another heated kiss. They both sighed when they broke apart, gazing at each other with words of affection and love passing between them in a silent form of communication.

"Yeah," he breathed, smiling up at her as she sat back. "Worth it just for the kiss."

"Pretty hot, was it?"

He nodded. "I'm looking forward to the sponge baths, Nurse Beckett."

She huffed, smirking as she met his gaze. "In your dreams, Castle."

"Hey," he argued, grinning dopily and waggling his eyebrows. "I've seen you naked, Beckett. My dreams come true."

She just shook her head, choosing to remain silent. He was right. He had seen her naked. And done other things that had most assuredly simply been just fantasies.

"So," he drawled out, casual and smooth, after a brief silence. "Bet I'm going to have a wicked scar." He waggled his eyebrows, far too delighted at the prospect. "Makes you hot for me, doesn't it?"

Beckett scoffed and rolled her eyes. Oh, yes, she had definitely read that correctly. She let him have his fun, then silenced him with a cutting look. "You don't need to have scars for me to find you sexy, Castle," she asserted, rather bold for her, really. She liked it. She liked who she was with him. His eyes rose in astonishment at her statement. She grinned and did that little eyebrow waggle gesture herself, making him smile, adding, "I think I proved that very point a couple of hours ago."

"Oh, yes, you did," his eyes glazed over with the memory. "And that thing you did with…" he trailed off, as if reliving that particular _thing_.

She bit her lower lip and looked at him demurely. "You liked that."

Castle bobbed his head so vigorously it was almost comical. "Very much, yes," he assured.

They sat there in silence for a long beat, gazing into each other's eyes, basking in the memory afterglow of their lovemaking. Castle looked at her adoringly, and brought her hand up to his lips, tenderly kissing her knuckles.

"When all this is over, what do you say we go somewhere warm and sunny," he suggested, eyes bright and sparkling. "Just the two of us. Make up for lost time."

"Yeah," she smiled, wide and happy, ducking her head down, almost bashfully. Beckett wasn't used to feeling like this, feeling so happy. She guessed she'd just have to live with that. A willing sacrifice, to be sure. "Yeah. I'd like that very much."

The loud crash of a heavy door slamming shut resounded out from the other side of the room, drawing their attention away from each other. Beckett craned her neck around, seeing Dr. Marston coming through with a cart that had a body bag on top of it, heading away from the freezer. Seeing them looking his way, Marston shifted course, pushing the gurney towards them.

"Eyes open," he noted, glancing at Castle with a pleased grin. "That's always a good sign."

"Hey, Doc," Castle returned the grin, gently touching his bandaged shoulder and chest. "Thanks."

Marston inclined his head towards Beckett. "Thank her," he said. "If she hadn't slowed your bleeding..." his voice trailed off and he shook his head. "She's nuts about you, you know?"

"Oh, I know," Castle's eyes sparkled as he looked back at her.

Beckett groaned. "Geez, thanks, Doc… his ego's big enough as it is."

Marston merely chuckled.

"What are you doing with Cassaday's body?" she asked, brows knitting together as she gazed over at the cart.

"Since we're here for the duration, I figured I'd move him to the bigger freezer unit in the science ward," he explained. "The storage here is crowded enough as it is with medical supplies." Grunting, he tugged at the gurney, redirecting it to the exit. "After I get this poor bastard on ice, I'm going to hunt me down a bottle of Scotch."

Beckett shared an amused look with Castle as Marston wheeled the cart away, towards the doors, offering them a farewell wave as he shoved his way out into the main corridor. Sighing, Beckett leaned back in her chair, ready to stay the night with Castle right here.

"So I take it we missed the plane?" Castle questioned at length, a little apologetic, like he was to blame for that.

She shook her head, dispelling him of that notion. "Not your fault," she asserted. "To be honest, I wasn't really comfortable leaving until we found the canisters."

His brow wrinkled at that, and she wanted so bad to just reach out and smooth her hand over his forehead, ease his worries.

"Did you find them?" he asked, curious eyes flirting up to meet hers.

Beckett leaned down and, in answer, pulled up the black duffel she'd taken from Russell during their fight in the heart of the whiteout.

"Well," Castle sat up, grunting slightly as he did so, and eagerly rubbed his hands together. "Let's open it."

She chuckled at his enthusiasm, but indulged him, curious herself. Placing the duffel in her lap, Beckett managed to pinch the zipper with the three digits remaining on her left hand and tugged the bag open. Reaching inside with her right hand, her fingers brushed against the smooth cool metal of a cylindrical object. Wrapping her fingers around it, she lifted it up out of the bag, holding it up for Castle to see.

His brow furrowed.

"What?" she asked, staring at the cylinder in her hand.

"Just," he hummed, thoughtful. "Not what I expected. Looks nothing like the photos Stetko faxed over."

Beckett shrugged, not sure if it really meant anything.

"Here," he held out a hand. "Let me see."

She handed it to him, and then opened her mouth in surprise as he reached for the cap. "Whoa, Castle! What hell are you doing?"

"Opening it," he answered, so casually, like it was obvious. "Don't you wanna know what's inside?"

"Not if it's radioactive," she chimed in.

He pursed his lips, glaring at the canister. It was smooth and plain, with no symbols or lettering of any kind, just cool, unblemished metal. "The Soviets would have labeled it if it were, don't you think?" he insisted. His eyes flicked back up to her. And she nodded. She trusted him, implicitly. A quality not many people in her life held.

Castle curled his fingers around the top, eyes remaining locked with hers. Beckett held her breath. And then he twisted the sealed cap and popped it off with a soft hiss. They stared at one another for a long beat before glancing down. A gasp escaped her lips.

"Jellybeans?" Castle frowned. "I don't get it?"

Beckett narrowed her eyes, just as confused. She reached inside the duffel bag and pulled out another cylinder, worked the cap off and then unceremoniously dumped its candy contents onto the food tray hovering besides the medical bed. Castle stared down at the colorful array of candy.

"Well, unless Russell was smuggling radioactive jellybeans," she shrugged, thinking out loud.

"He had a partner," Castle finished, meeting her eyes.

She almost smiled, remembering the thrill of building theory and completing each other's sentences, but she restrained herself, because the implications were huge. Castle dipped his head down, absently fiddling with the jellybeans on the tray.

"But who?" he questioned, brow furrowing.

Beckett chewed on her lower lip, mulling that over. She finally shook her head. "Must have gotten out on the plane," she said.

Castle inclined his head in agreement, still frowning. He picked up one of the jellybeans, and, before she could stop him—God, he really was like a nine-year-old on a sugar rush—he popped it into his mouth. He chewed it loudly, smacking his lips, and then turned to her with a smirk. "Sour apple."


	27. Chapter 26

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 26**_

* * *

" _I don't know what to tell you, Marshal_ ," Murphy said, aggravated. " _We've checked everything_."

Beckett paced back and forth, pausing to glance over her shoulder at Castle. He had been asleep for thirty minutes. It took some persuasion on her part, but she managed to talk him into taking some of the pain pills Dr. Marston had supplied. But she had to agree to do so as well. After all, Beckett was a little bruised and battered from her fight with Russell, and her left hand still ached something fierce from the amputation. It was easy to give into his pleas, especially when he gave her the puppy dog eyes treatment.

But despite that, she couldn't let the notion drop that Russell had a partner. It nagged at her. So, she waited until she was sure Castle was fully under, and then patched the communications system through the medical bay and contacted Murphy aboard the cargo plane.

"Sam, it must be on the transport," she insisted, holding the radio unit up to her mouth, eyes still on Castle's sleeping form, taking comfort in the gentle rise and fall of his chest. "Are you sure you checked everything?"

" _Everything_ ," he repeated, sounding annoyed, which was typical.

"You've searched all the passengers?" she asked, brows narrowed.

" _Yeah_ ," he grunted. " _We found nothing suspicious. It must be hidden on the base_."

She pursed her lips and continued her pacing, the frustration mounting. She pinched the back of her neck, feeling a headache starting to form at the base of her skull.

"Are you sure everything's on the manifest?" she persisted, stubbornly refusing to back down.

" _No_ ," he answered, irked by her tone. " _We were in a rush, remember?_ "

"Yeah, yeah," she huffed. "Do you have the manifest?"

" _I can get it_."

"Good, fax it to me," she all but ordered. "Do it now."

Beckett disconnected the call, and returned the radio unit to its charging port in the communications console on Marston's desk. Scrubbing a hand down her face, she grunted, and pulled the hand back, glowering when she stared down at her left hand. She hated it. But it was better than losing her entire hand or arm. Beckett decided she could live with it. It would just take longer for her to adjust. Glancing back at Castle, she released a contented sigh. He still looked at her with that same awe and wonderment he had when they first met. Her stomach fluttered, and she smiled. The feeling was definitely mutual.

Deciding to let him rest, Beckett pushed out through the double doors. Hunching her shoulders and shoving her hands into the pockets of her cardigan, she stalked down the corridor and through the tubular tunnel connection the two modules. Once in Building B, Beckett walked all the way down the corridor until she reached the turn that would take her to the operations center.

The room was silent. The computer terminals and consoles buzzed and hummed in low power mode. Lighting was subdued, as most had been dimmed once the base went into emergency lockdown. She strolled around the room, glancing at all the shutdown computers and closed work stations, heading for the communication terminal, where a fax machine was located. Reaching up, she flicked on one of the desk lamps to illuminate the bulky machine, before folding her arms across her chest and tapping her foot as she waited.

"Come on, Sam," she mumbled, chewing on her lower lip.

Finally, the fax machine beeped and buzzed to life. She listened as the catch grabbed a piece of paper and threaded it through the device, until it spat it out on the top tray. Grabbing the list, Beckett squinted in the dim light as she ran one hand down the grid, inspecting all items that the inventory check had found had not made it to the plane during the rushed evacuation. She huffed, annoyed that nothing popped up on the first paper. Putting it aside, she snatched up the second one after it arrived. Nothing. And then the third paper had nothing as well that could lead her to a potential clue as where Russell's mystery partner might have hidden the contents of the canisters.

Finally, on the second to last paper, she found some missing items. Most were from survival equipment, which she had expected, since she'd stumbled upon those trunks and boxes outside, which she was glad had been left behind during the hasty evacuation. Those had come in handy in her battle with the Aussie pilot. The items missing from the inventory on the manifest that intrigue her were a grouping of three items labeled as coming from the science department—SCIENCE 258, SCIENCE 259, and SCIENCE 260.

Shutting off the desk lamp, Beckett grabbed a flashlight off the charging rack on the wall, and left the operations center. Science storage was on Level 1, room number B118. She took the stairs at a quick clip, and turned right on the bottom landing.

Coming to a halt, Beckett's ears perked up when she heard muffled shouts. Just ahead of her was the TV lounge. The door stood ajar, allowing the flickering light to filter out into the dark hallway. Beckett moved cautiously and peeked inside. The tension in her shoulders relaxed when she saw Reggie slumped along the width of the ratty and worn sofa, snoring as _Air Force One_ played on the flat screen TV mounted on the wall. Harrison Ford was telling Gary Oldman to get off his plane. Stepping back, she released a breath, and wished Reggie good dreams.

Spinning on her heels, Beckett strolled down the semi-dark corridor with purpose. She walked past the technical support offices and data center, glancing through the viewing windows on each door. Besides herself, Castle, Marston, and Reggie, no one else had stayed behind. But that might not be the case. Someone had to have helped Russell escape from holding. For all she knew, the mysterious partner could still be on base, hidden somewhere.

The flashlight beam shone off the door labeled B118 – SCIENCE STORAGE. Beckett gripped the handle, and pushed the door open. Sweeping the light over the room, she slowly walked down the aisles of shelves containing beakers, microscopes, sample containers, and a plethora of other scientific equipment. She narrowed her eyes, reading the identification numbers associated with each section, and nodded to herself. She was in the right area.

Reaching the end of the aisle, she turned back around and walked around the shelving unit, finding a thick slab of metal along the wall with a stenciled labeling it as—COLD STORAGE. Stepping over to it, she removed the pin from the lock, gripped the flat gray handle, and tugged hard, sliding the door open. It hissed, like an airlock, and she gazed inside, pointing her flashlight ahead of her.

Beckett hesitated at the threshold, breathing heavily through her nose. The dark didn't frighten her, but the unknown did. Also, she didn't like heading into a freezer when a potential villain was still on the loose. After a quick debate in her head, Beckett decided to take the risk. She needed answers.

Storage racks of frozen science samples lined the three walls. She recognized most of them as being ice core samples, had even been interested in what the researchers found from them. Tilting her light down, she found the floor was stacked with the body bags. This was where Rhonda had decided to store the bodies of the _Delta One One_ team. She knelt down, scanning the flashlight over the bags, noting that the latest one was Cassaday. Her brow furrowed as she recalled that Marston had just transferred the body out of the freezer in the medical bay and into this storage unit.

Shifting the light down, she illuminated the label on the body bag—SCIENCE 258. Examining the other body bags, she discovered that the bag in the middle and the one on the top matched up with the other two missing manifest identification numbers. Frown deepening, Beckett reached up to try and unzip the bag with her left hand, but discovered that it had been sealed with a plastic cinch. Grunting, she pulled a switchblade out from her pocket and folded the knife out. Then, holding the flashlight steady in her mouth, she gripped the switchblade in her right hand as she cut the cinch. With it freed, Beckett was then able to open the body bag.

The flashlight dropped from her mouth. Despite having seen it before, she couldn't help but gasp in start when she was met with the grizzly smashed in face of Geoff Cassaday. Placing a hand over her heart, Beckett drew in a calming breath, before continuing her examination. Picking the flashlight up off the floor, she scanned the bright beam up and down the corpse, traveling over the Y-incision on the chest, and the damaged hand from when Marston had attempted to pry it off the ice when they'd found the body and were attempting to scrape him off the frozen ground.

Squinting, Beckett let the light linger along a long row of stitches running down Cassaday's leg. She glared at it, a little confused. There hadn't been any mention of a leg injury in the Doc's autopsy report. She certainly didn't remember seeing one when she'd viewed the body. It just didn't add up. Shaking her head, she panned the light back up, exploring the rest of Cassaday's upper body, seeing a dried river of blood that ran out from under his armpit.

The truth hit her like a sledgehammer.

"Someplace no one would ever think to look," she mumbled to herself as she gripped the dead man's wrist and raised his arm, seeing more stitches. Her nose wrinkled as she glared hard at the line of stitches ending with curved sutures. A terrible realization started to dawn on her. "Shit." No. That could not be possible.

Sitting back on her haunches, Beckett raised her left hand, staring long and hard at the flat knuckles were her ring and pinky fingers used to be. She shook her head, unwilling to believe it. Slowly, she began to unravel the gauze wrapped around the wound. Her breath hitched, and her heart stilled as she uncovered her hand, revealing the same curved-looped sutures at the end of the stitches as on the corpse's leg and arm.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Beckett glanced back down at Cassaday's body, glaring at the stitches. With a trembling hand, she took her knife back out and started down the row, cutting each stitch. The dead skin split to reveal the bottom of a canister that had been stuffed inside his chest cavity. Carefully, she reached down and tugged it out. It looked nothing like the canisters in the fax. In fact, it was almost identical to the ones she found in Russell's duffel bag, except this one had a little bit of rust on the bottom.

Beckett contemplated leaving and taking it to Castle, discuss what she found, what it could mean, but her desire for answers outweighed everything else. Placing her hand on the top of the cylinder, she twisted the lid. It loosened easily. Pursing her lips, pulse quickening, Beckett slid the cap off and peered inside.

She frowned.

Whatever it was, it was frozen.

Tilting the canister back, a foot-long ice core sample slid out. Confused, Beckett cocked her head, not sure she understood what was so important about frozen ice core samples from an old Soviet plane to merit all the death and murder to smuggle it out. Uranium, she would have understood. But this. No.

Barely able to grab her flashlight with her left hand, her surviving thumb making it possible, Beckett directed the beam at the ice, then gasped. The dark roomed suddenly danced with glistening light. The core sample was packed full of diamonds. This she understood. Greed was a powerful motivator. She had seen it quite often during her time with the NYPD.

Lifting the cylinder up, she shoved the ice core back into the canister and reattached the lid. Dropping it on the floor, Beckett glanced at the other bodies. She had to shove Cassaday's corpse off the top of the stack to get at the next one. This one was labeled SCIENCE 259. The same cinch was on the zipper, so she quickly cut it off. Peeling back the bag, she discovered the milky dead eyes of Dr. Tallis staring up at her. Shining her light over his corpse, she noticed that his chest was uneven. She didn't even have to investigate any further to know there was probably a cylinder or two buried inside his body.

"Doc… how could you?" Beckett muttered to herself, a single tear dropping down her cheek. Shaking her head, she released a heavy sigh, the betrayal almost too much.

Slowly, on wobbly legs, she stood up, and scrubbed a hand down her face, deeply disappointed. So very disappointed, but also hurt. Tremendously so. This would be the second time that someone she trusted betrayed her. First Montgomery. Now Marston. It was almost unfathomable.

"If they had just gone along with it," came a voice from behind her.

Beckett nearly flinched. She turned around, seeing Marston standing in the doorway of the cold storage freezer. He stood there, looking sad and remorseful. His pale blue shone with his regret as he looked at her, as if willing her to understand, to sympathize with him.

"Those fools found a plane," he said, voice grave and tragic. "They had no idea what they stumbled onto. Turns out the Russians had discovered a diamond field while drilling for core samples in the 60s."

Beckett almost laughed. Almost. "And we thought it was nukes this whole time."

Marston shook his head and sighed, heavy and slow. "Russell said he knew someone in the States who could move the diamonds for us. It was a hell of a lot of money, Kate."

She shook her head, glaring at him with watery eyes, the hurt and betrayal awash on her face, laid bare for all to see. "Money," she spat it out in disgust and disappointment, trying to hold back the tears. She would not cry for this man. "This was all about money."

"It's more complicated than that, kid," Marston asserted.

Beckett blinked her eyes and eased back, the emotional blow of this treachery almost as worse as a punch to the gut. "How?" she gasped, her eyes jerking up to his. "How did you get wrapped up in all this, Doc?"

He licked his lips and shifted his weight on his feet, averting his eyes for a long moment, shame flicking across his face. "Beckcom got hurt on that plane. They were afraid to move her. So Fegetter called me." He sighed, running a weary hand through his gray beard. "Russell and I flew out. They were having trouble getting the safe open—Russell found a way."

She narrowed her eyes, absorbing the story. It's just like Castle said, there was always a story.

"Then Bettis got cold feet," she interjected, seeing it playout in her mind. "She couldn't handle Herrera's death, which was an accident. His death was the only thing that was an accident." She shook her head, dismayed at how it all spiraled down so terribly. "It got ugly, didn't it—Russell, he took the gun from the cockpit, killed her. Everything went to hell after that, didn't it, Doc?"

He swallowed, but inclined his head, confirming her supposition. "Russell thought he could kill his way out to this whole thing," he said, raking his fingers through the tangle mess of his silvery mane of hair. His brows knitted together in vexation. "If those idiots hadn't panicked, none of this would have happened."

Marston stood there for a moment, breathing in and out with fury over how it all went down. He stared at her, long and hard, and then abruptly turned and walked out of the freezer. Stunned, Beckett carefully followed him. Her eyes drifted ahead of his path, seeing that he was headed for a cabinet, one she knew held survival gear like rope, gloves, goggles, crampons, and… an ice axe. Her heart jumped into her throat.

"Doc… don't," she warned.

He stopped, for just a second, before moving forward. She reached down to grab her Glock, only then remembering that she had lost it out in the blizzard while fighting Russell. She gritted her teeth, cursing. Marston opened the cabinet and reached in, but instead of producing a weapon, he pulled out a bottle of Scotch and a tumbler. When he turned back around, he looked different somehow, a subtle shift inside him, something illogical.

He unscrewed the cap and poured himself a generous helping. "I'll cut you in, Kate," Marston declared after gulping down the amber liquid, hissing at the burn. "There's at least 6 million in diamonds in there. That can buy both of us a nice life back in the world. How many times have we both talked about having a fresh start. You can go back to New York, with your man. Start anew. Be happy."

Beckett shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing from this man she'd spent just under two years working with. He had been her friend. She'd trusted him, told him things, personal things that she hadn't told anyone, save for Castle.

"There is no granddaughter, is there?" she asked, the anger simmering beneath the surface, the fire already in her eyes. "This was about greed, plain and simple."

He sighed, and took another gulp of Scotch, this time straight from the bottle. "No, I don't have a granddaughter," Marston said, sad and glum. He looked down, the shadow of his eyes brimming with it. "I don't have a daughter. No family. Nothing. I don't have anything." He sighed, looking at the bottle in his hand, and shrugged, putting it down on a nearby shelf. "Twelve years at Northwestern, and what the hell am I doing now? I'm down here treating… frostbite, hangovers… whatever." He huffed, scowling. His eyes snapped back up to her, pointing towards the freezer. "Those diamonds were under that ice for fifty years. Who's gonna miss them, Kate? It was my chance to take back something of what they took from me."

Beckett waited to see if he was done with his rant before speaking. She cocked her head and glared at him. "From you?" she asked, incredulous. She gestured back to the freezer. His callous disregard for human life rocked her. "And what about what you took from them?" She paused, and glanced down at her hand. Her lower lip trembled. "From me?"

That got him, he pursed his lips and looked down, rightfully ashamed.

"We were friends," she reminded him, already mourning that. "I trusted you."

Marston swallowed, and turned his back to her. "Your hand?" he questioned in a voice choked with regret.

"It hurts," she answered honestly.

He turned back to her, trying to be clinical, but the emotion—the shame—still bleeding out of his eyes. "It will for some time," he replied, pausing to glance up at her before looking away, keeping his head down. "And even though they're gone, you're gonna feel like they're there."

They stood like that, apart, the quiet growing between them for what felt like an eternity.

"I gotta turn you in, Doc," Beckett stated, breaking the silence, and even though she was furious with him, she couldn't stop the lone tear from trickling down her cheek. God, this was just like Montgomery all over again. Why did this have to happen to her? What did she ever do to the universe to make it punish her like this?

His head jerked up and he looked at her, eyes filled with apology. "Yeah," Marston said, nodding. "I know that." He licked his lips and shook his head. "I never meant for anyone to get hurt. But Russell was too greedy." He shook his head, and managed a weak smile. "Hell, we all were."

Marston turned and slowly walked towards an opened hatchway that led to a small ready room used for quick loading and unloading of scientific equipment. The turbulent storm howling outside was visible through the small viewing port on the outer hatch. Beckett stared into the back of the doctor's head, uncertain what he was thinking. His part in all this had come as a total shock to her. She wondered if she ever truly new him.

"The Aurora Australis is pretty special this time of year," he said, glancing back at her, seeming far too calm for a man who'd just confessed his sins. "You haven't really watched it, have you?"

"No," she admitted, wrestling with her emotions, just as she had when her former captain had revealed his betrayal.

"I'd like to see it one last time," he said, looking at her with pleading and understanding eyes.

She struggled with the battle between her heart and head, duty and emotion, before meeting his eyes, and nodding. "Okay."

Marston inclined his head in gratitude, and stepped over the threshold, entering the small vestibule. He walked up to the outer hatch, and rested his hand on the cold metal as he leaned in, staring out the view port.

"Magnificent," he proclaimed, before turning around to look at her. "You owe it to yourself to see it, Kate. It's a hell of a show. Promise me you'll see it, Kate. Promise me."

Her vision was becoming blurry with tears. She licked her lips and bobbed her head. "Promise."

Marston smiled at her, gaze turning soft and oddly paternal. Her brow wrinkled, confused. It was almost like a father soaking in the image of his child before…

Using both his hands on the latch, Marston pulled it back. The airlock door blasted open, filling the space between them with violent winds and spinning flecks of ice. Beckett stood there, blinking furiously as she watched him throw one last look back at her.

"Live, Kate," he demanded. "Don't forget to live."

And then, with shoulders hunched and one hand held up to shield himself from the harsh gust of wind, Dr. Mark Marston, wearing just the clothes on his back, marched out into the tumult and rage of a howling blizzard, disappearing into the blanket of white.

The violent wind and the chilly freeze of the storm continued to blast into the room, hitting Beckett, who remained standing still like a statue, emotionally drained. Numb. Tears started to freeze to her cheeks. A shadow passed by her. She was only vaguely aware that it was Castle. He was hunkered over in pain, but pushed himself forward against the driving force of the wind, stalking into the ready room. Straining against the powerful pull of the storm, Castle reached the door. Beckett just stood there, unable to do anything but watch as, with a great feat of strength, Castle rammed the door closed.

Instant silence.

Shivering and trembling from the freezing cold, Castle grabbed one of the thick jackets from the rack. He approached Beckett. Her eyes were still locked on the door, numb. Castle immediately wrapped the coat around her shoulders, rubbing his hands up and down her arms to get her warm. Her lips trembled and her eyes finally jerked up to his.

"I know," he soothed, tenderly caressing her face, eyes soft and understanding. "I heard it all."

"You… you followed me?" Beckett stammered out, teeth chattering.

He offered her a shrug. "I always do."

"Yeah," she conceded, still shivering. "You do."

"Come," he said, gripping her shoulders, hugging her to him. "Come with me."

Castle helped Beckett up to her feet. She clung to him, desperate and needy. His presence was the only thing that kept her from completely falling apart. She eased into his embrace, closing her eyes as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"It's over now," he said.

And then he gently led her away.


	28. Epilogue

**Whiteout**

* * *

 _ **Epilogue**_

* * *

They were trapped at the South Pole for four months, nearly five, because of the severe winter that season. All three of them—Kate Beckett, Richard Castle, and Reggie Talbot—were stuck at Amundsen-Scott Base for the duration. For Beckett, the quiet was a welcome respite from the intense and deadly case, offering her time to mourn Dr. Mark Marston, and the man she had thought he'd been. It was still a shock to her, emotionally draining anytime she thought of it. It was Roy Montgomery all over again. She talked to Castle about it. They talked a lot. Not just about what had happened, but about everything.

Castle recovered quickly from his injuries. And, much to his delight, he did have a battle scar. He primped and preened over it, making her laugh. That was something she did a lot more often now that Richard Castle was back in her life. Beckett liked it. She felt better, more free and open with him than she had with anyone. They spent a lot of time together, discussing plans, the past, how their friends and families were doing, reliving the good times, and making love. She found comfort and joy in his arms, resting her head against his chest in the afterglow. His heart beat strong and steady.

"For you," he had proclaimed after one particular vigorous round. "Always for you."

It was almost like they were horny teenagers. She couldn't get enough of him. And they had a whole base as their playground. They even had some awkward moments when Reggie almost walked in on them going at it like rabbits. After one particular close call, Castle had—albeit reluctantly—agreed to regulate their activities to the privacy of her quarters.

When she wasn't having gloriously, hot, mind-blowing sex with Castle, Beckett made daily rounds of the facility, keeping it up and running during the winter-over until the weather conditions allowed for the return of the crew and staff. Castle would sometimes join her, and they'd talk and banter like old times as they worked. It was comforting to her that they were able to fall back into the routine with ease, that the intimate change in their relationship didn't change that aspect of it.

Because of the strong and fierce winds, the planes were grounded indefinitely, so Reggie took the opportunity to tinker, making the necessary repairs on all the vehicles left in the hangar. Castle tried assisting him, wanting to gain some new skills before they returned to the world. His enthusiasm for learning was greatly endearing. All in all, the pilot welcomed the company and the chance it gave him to poke fun at Castle whenever he made what he considered a glaringly obvious mistake. It amused both Beckett and Reggie when, once over dinner, Castle asked the pilot if there was a way to hotwire an airplane. They had laughed, and he'd puffed up his chest, pouted like a little boy, and proclaimed it was for book research.

About a month into their stay, Beckett had discovered Castle installed in the conference room across from the operations center. He'd requisitioned one of the white boards from the science labs, and had set it up by the table, covering it with notes and outlines scrawled in his elegant handwriting. He'd also appropriated one of the laptops from storage. Beckett had hung back, observing unseen as he paced in front of the whiteboard, brainstorming, before pulling the laptop over and writing for a long stretch. And then the cycle would repeat.

She left him alone during that time, unable to suppress the beaming smile at seeing him write. It was a process she had never actually witnessed in spite of all their time together. Beckett still remembered the feeling of awe that had overcome her when she'd entered his home office for the first time. It had been like sneaking into the Batcave, a reference he wholeheartedly approved.

"What's it called?" she had asked one night, naked and sated, lazily playing her fingers along his slick back, memorizing the play of the muscles beneath his skin.

" _Raging Heat_ ," he had answered with a delighted grin.

"Nice title," Beckett had joked, smacking his magnificent ass.

Castle had then rolled over onto his side, spreading his hand across her hip to tug her closer. "Figured I'd have Nikki and Rook solve a crime in the midst of a hurricane."

"Sounds thrilling," she had replied. "When do I get to read it."

"Soon," he had promised, and then had silenced any more teasing by slanting his mouth over hers in a passionate kiss, gently rolling her over, and thoroughly distracting her with another round of spectacular sex.

Now winter was almost over. The storms had started to lessen and the sun shone brighter with each passing day. Beckett had made a decision during the months of winter-over, one that had been far easier than she had expected. She sent her decision to resign her position with the United States Marshal Service to Van Decker in Sydney, and he then bounced it up the ladder to Washington.

Tugging her parka over her shoulders, Beckett flexed her fingers, glancing down at her left hand. Marston had been right. It still hurt, and she still felt her missing fingers, but it wasn't as bad now. When she had been shot, Beckett had run away, hiding from everyone and everything. She couldn't do that here. Yes, she could still hide herself away, and wallow in solitude, if she wanted to, but in the end, Castle would always come and find her. All in all, she believed it helped being stuck down here with Castle. It allowed her to adapt and accept what had happened to her hand without needing to put on a brave mask to the rest of the world.

Beckett walked down the corridor, heading for the recreation room, where she knew she'd find Castle and Reggie heavily engaged in a game of Madden. Castle had been thrilled when he learned that the activity rooms had a XBOX console and a variety of games. He rapidly turned into a nine-year-old on a sugar rush. He'd tried getting her to play Halo with him, but she declined, preferring to spend her time reading or working out, which, much to her pleasure, she was able to convince Castle to join her. He'd had one stipulation, though, which was that they did some naked yoga. She smirked at the memory of that particular workout, which had rapidly dissolved into a heated quickie on the bench press.

Popping through the door, she was pleased to find Castle where she had expected. And he was, indeed, enthralled in a game of Madden with Reggie.

"Oh you're going down, Rick," Reggie taunted. "TOUCHDOWN!"

Castle stuck out his lower lip in a boyish pout, and feigned a childish tantrum. It was amusing to watch, so Beckett lingered in the doorway for a while to observe, before interrupting.

"Hey, Castle, wanna walk with me?" she called.

"Please, yes, I need to retain some dignity," Castle huffed, standing up and tossing his controller onto the sofa. Reggie chuckled. Castle pointed a finger at the pilot. "Rematch tomorrow?"

"You're on, Rick!" Reggie grinned back.

Grabbing his black jacket from the coatrack, Castle jogged over to her with a smile. "How are you doing?" he asked.

"Good," Beckett said, smiling back at him and hooking her arm through his as they strolled down the main corridor.

She leaned her head against his shoulder as they casually walked in companionable silence through Building B, across the connection tunnel into Building A, and towards the main entrance. Stepping into the vestibule, Beckett slipped on a pair of gloves, which was much easier now than it had been two months ago, and waited for Castle to do the same. The morning storm had dissipated during the afternoon, so the sky was clear tonight. They should be fine in just their standard layers of clothes and their warm parkas. Castle took the lead, holding the outer door open for her as she walked out.

The wind was crisp and biting, but bearable. Both their breaths fogged in front of their faces as they hiked down the steps and into the snow. The flood lights illuminated the white snow, making it glow. Castle followed her as they did a loop around the modules, cutting a path underneath them to stop and stare at the ceremonial South Pole. Beckett sighed, and looked up, seeing the awesome dance of colors from the Aurora Australis: Blues, greens, purples, and reds. They swayed to a silent rhythm that was mystical and inspiring. It was beautiful.

Beckett blinked her eyes as her vision turned blurry. She dropped her gaze and stared lovingly at Castle as he looked up in wonderment at the Southern Lights. He was beautiful. Her chest swelled with all the love she had for this man. Beckett was a strong and independent woman, but she'd spent too much of her life alone—both physically and emotionally. After her mother's death, she had constructed a wall around her heart in an attempt to protect herself from that level of pain and grief. But now, looking at Castle, embracing the love she felt for him, and accepting his love in return, Kate Beckett felt whole.

She was no longer afraid.

Beckett reached out and took Castle's hand in hers. He turned, glancing down at their joined hands, before looking up to meet her warm and soft eyes.

"Kate?"

She smiled at him. Happy. "I'm ready to go home now."

* * *

 _ **THE END**_

* * *

 **Acknowledgments**

The last scene was one of the first that popped into my head when I came up with the idea for this story. Wow. It is always bittersweet when you come to the end of a story, especially one like this, which I have lived with for a while. I started the initial stages of writing this story on August 1st, 2017, and finished writing it on June 4th, 2018—and then begun posting on June 8th. But the idea came long before. In 2009, before the season 2 premiere of _Castle_ , I saw the movie _Whiteout_ in theaters. It stuck with me, and eventually, after I'd been writing _Castle_ fanfiction for a while, I remembered the movie and thought it would make a fun AU, as is often the case with me when it comes to movies since becoming a fan of _Castle_. I would find myself saying, what if this were Caskett?

So, that's what I've done with this.

The movie was based off two graphic novels by Greg Rucka and Steve Lieber. The screenplay for the movie was written by Jon Hoeber, Erich Hoeber, Chad Hayes, and Carey W. Hayes. I took elements from both graphic novels, the finished movie, and an early draft of the screenplay to cobble together this story, putting Kate Beckett into the role of U.S. Marshal Carrie Stetko, played by Kate Beckinsale in the movie. If you enjoyed this story, I encourage you to check out the original graphic novels: WHITEOUT Vol. 1 and WHITEOUT Vol. 2 - MELT.

I'd like to thank all those who offered up their names for the numerous murder victims, and other characters. You know who you are. It's very much appreciated, as it can get trying at times coming up with different names all the times. It was one less thing I had to think about while I wrote this.

Also, many thanks to Anastasia (aka ladyalways47 on Twitter) for helping come up with the name for Russian officer Dimitri Pentrenko, and providing me with all the translations so Beckett could speak proper Russian.

Lastly, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and review, not just this story, but my other Castle fanfic stories. Also, to everyone who kept the faith, and understood that despite the hardship our characters faced, Caskett was always endgame and that I would, in time, give them a happy ending. I have several more stories in the works at the moment, just waiting for one to stick and take off.

So, until next time, thanks for reading.

\- Travis


End file.
